Tides of Faith

Travail of The Dark Mage

Book Two

Brian S. Pratt

Copyright 2013

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The Fantasy Worlds of

Brian S. Pratt

The Morcyth Saga

The Unsuspecting Mage

Fires of Prophecy

Warrior Priest of Dmon-Li

Trail of the Gods

The Star of Morcyth

Shades of the Past

The Mists of Sorrow*

*(Conclusion of The Morcyth Saga)

Travail of The Dark Mage

Sequel to The Morcyth Saga

1-Light in the Barren Lands

2- Tides of Faith

The Improbable Adventures of

Scar and Potbelly

(coming soon)

-see preview at end of Tides of Faith

The Broken Key

#1- Shepherd’s Quest

#2-Hunter of the Horde

#3-Quest’s End

Qyaendri Adventures

Ring of the Or’tux

Dungeon Crawler Adventures

Underground

Portals

The Adventurer’s Guild

#1-Jaikus and Reneeke Join the Guild

This is for-

My children who went through so much in the years during which I wrote Tides of Faith.

My family for standing by us and helping us to endure.

My fans for their patience and understanding.

Chapter One

The Temple routine had been severely disrupted over the past three days: Daily Prayers left unprayed, Novices showed for classes only to learn they were canceled, and Priests galloped away on errands most mysterious. Despite such disorder, life had definitely taken an upswing for Kip ever since he had been dragooned into participating in a Temple Ritual better suited for those more experienced. Being the lowest ranking person “in the know” about recent events, the duty for taking care of the Temple’s “guests” had fallen to him.

Being party to clandestine happenings was really quite exciting. Having been personally instructed by the High Priest against divulging the presence of the three gave him no end of enjoyment. Whenever the care of his patients prompted him to enter the Temple at large, he crept about so as to avoid encountering his peers. Upon the lone occasion when his efforts at passing unseen proved less than effective, he merely eluded to an important errand and that he hadn’t the time to talk. He was certain that doing so raised more questions than put to rest, but frankly, he didn’t care. Things were afoot and he was right in the middle of it!

Enjoying a short period of relaxation, Kip sat upon a rather plush chair with feet propped upon the side of the little girl’s cot. This position allowed him to keep a good eye on his three patients.

The girl couldn’t have been more than five or six by his reckoning. In the cot next to hers slept her father, or so the High Priest had indicated. Kip had seen him only once before, and that briefly. His name was Jiron, and the daughter, Jira. Both had been in bad shape when they arrived. Or should he say…appeared? He wasn’t exactly sure which term applied seeing as how one minute they weren’t there, then they were. It was probably best to not worry overmuch about such things. His duty was to take care of them, and take care of them he would.

Of the other man that appeared with the father and daughter, Kip hadn’t at first known his identity. In fact, if he hadn’t overheard the High Priest and Father Keller, one of the ranking priests of the Inner Circle, discussing the trio he might still not know.

The Dark Mage!

Whenever Kip’s thoughts turned to the man, he found his gaze moved unconsciously toward the figure of so much rumor and mystery. Some called him a hero; the one who single handedly threw off the yolk of slavery imposed upon Madoc by the Empire. Others called him a servant of evil. It all depended on who you talked to. The High Priest thought highly of him, and that satisfied Kip.

Three days had come and gone, and still they had yet to awaken. From what other priests stated, it could very well be another day or two before they regained consciousness. Which suited Kip. The longer this took, the longer he would have a holiday from studies and chores.

The emergence of a groan from the girl’s father drew Kip’s attention. It was a miracle that the man was even alive. Dead upon arrival, he only lived now because of the intercession of the High Priest. Seeing the man’s eyes remained closed, Kip resumed his enjoyment of the High Priest’s chair. Having been brought for the High Priest’s use during his visits, the Reverend Father had said he could use it when no one else was around.

“It would not do to have you seen sitting in my chair,” the High Priest had whispered with a grin.

The High Priest was an amiable fellow; in Kip’s opinion much too young to hold such an exalted position. Weren’t High Priests supposed to be old men, far removed from the province of youth? But the shortness of his years was not the High Priest’s only out-of-character aspect. He could use a sword.

Since his first day at the Temple, Kip had heard the scuttlebutt going around that the High Priest could wield a sword with the best of them. That if you displeased him, he may just “call you out” and that would be that. He hadn’t given the rumor much credence until after the arrival of the three people lying in cots before him. But after that, the High Priest had begun to wear a sword; not only him, but a dozen of the higher ranking priests.

Kip worried that such, coupled with the appearance of the three, boded ill for the near future, though doubted if he would ever learn the whys and wherefores of the situation. A Novice was, after all, far removed from the high end of the Temple’s hierarchy. In fact, he sort of thought his station to be located nearer the leaky end of the cellar on the list.

Voices from the other side of the door prompted a rapid departure from his cushy repose. Vaulting to his feet, he managed to take several steps from the High Priest’s chair and turn to face the door just as it opened. In walked Father Keller with the High Priest, both wearing swords.

“…and I think a certain pair should be made aware of his presence as well.” Concluding his remark, High Priest Miko glanced toward his youngest conspirator. “How are our patients this morning?”

Kip bowed deeply. “They are resting, Reverend Father.”

Miko went to stand with Kip while Father Keller moved toward the cots. He glanced at the chair, saw the barely perceptible indentation, then gave Kip a knowing grin. “Have they awoken?”

“No, Reverend Father.”

“Call me Miko.”

Father Keller flashed a disapproving gaze toward his superior, but silenced the retort he might have voiced had they been alone. The look had not been lost on Kip.

“As you wish Reverend Fa…uh…Miko.” The name, while it suited him, did not roll from the tongue as well as Reverend Father, especially with Father Keller disapproving glare boring into him.

Miko grinned. “At least when we are alone like this.”

Kip nodded, deeming such to be the best way to reply without antagonizing either.

Patting his young Novice on the shoulder, Miko went to join Father Keller at James’ bedside.

“He’s merely asleep,” Father Keller announced quietly as Miko joined him. “Do you wish for me to wake him?”

“Not just yet.” Pausing a moment, he turned his attention to where his young Novice remained standing. “Kip, they will be waking soon. Perhaps you and Father Keller could ensure food will be available when they do?”

Young Kip nodded. “As you wish, Rev…Miko.”

The High Priest of Morcyth then flashed Father Keller a look his friend of four years fully understood: take your time.

Knowing that Miko wished to be alone with The Dark Mage when he awoke, Father Keller took charge of Kip and together, left him alone with his friend.

Minutes ticked by as Miko watched James sleep. His innate abilities as Morcyth’s High Priest allowed him to “know” James would make a full, and quick, recovery; Jira too. Jiron on the other hand would require additional rest before returning to his former state of lethality. It was not easy to shake off the touch of death’s cold hand.

For over a year, foreshadowings of dire times had dogged him. Plagued both in sleep and during waking hours by feelings and barely perceived omens, he had known an ill wind drew nigh. Rumors had reached his ears of unsettling occurrences to the south. Being of the street, Miko knew the value of intelligence. Certain priests “sent out” to spread the word of Morcyth’s return often held ulterior motives. Not only believers did they seek, but news that might be of interest to their High Priest, and not just which bakery held the best tarts.

Illan, comrade of past adventures, passed information whenever they happened his way. Known as Black Hawk to the world, Illan held Madoc’s southern border against the Empire. His Raiders, an aged group of fighters intermixed now with an influx of new blood, kept the peace along what once had been a no-man’s land of banditry and corruption.

Just last week, Father Andrew had returned from a trip to the south with grim news. Located some fifty miles within the Empire’s border, an entire town had been wiped out, massacred from the looks of it. If Illan’s informants could be believed, the people had fallen upon each other. Men, women, and children had been hacked to death with whatever had been at hand; knives, shovels, pitchforks, and in one instance, the horns of a goat that were still attached to its severed head.

Black Hawk had sent scouts to see if other towns had been affected, but all others were continuing along with business as usual. He thought that perhaps the priesthood of Dmon-Li might be resurfacing, but Miko considered that unlikely. Everything they knew of Dmon-Li indicated that they preferred “sacrificing” their offerings in places unseen.

Something was astir in the Empire, something…unpleasant. And now James had been attacked. Miko had questions, questions which needed answering. Sitting upon the chair recently vacated by Kip, the High Priest of Morcyth leaned forward and gently shook the shoulder of the man that had altered his life forever.

Who would have believed a street-brat from Bearn would one day be a High Priest? An unusual High Priest to say the least. His peers in the temple world, the other High Priests, thought him eccentric, that he didn’t give proper respect deserving the position of High Priest. Rarely in proper robes, Miko preferred comfortable brown leathers to the pompous and bulky robes others of his station draped about themselves. The set his priests presented him during his second year as High Priest were only brought out during various ceremonies, those demanding a certain amount of decorum.

“James?”

Shaking the shoulder a second time produced an intake of breath, a stretch, and the cracking open of one eyelid.

“About time you awoke.”

When his gaze focused and he saw who it was leaning forward, the second eye flew open. “Miko?” He tried coming to an upright position, but his head spun and he sagged back down.

“Yes, James. It is me.”

“How…?” Glancing to where Jiron and Jira lay, he saw their chests rising and falling and knew they lived. “How did we come to be here?” He returned his gaze to Miko.

“Morcyth thought you might need help in the crossing.” Morcyth’s High Priest grinned the grin James had seen so many times before. “We searched the ether and found you lost. It was but a simple matter to direct you here.”

“Simple?” James laid an arm across his forehead in an attempt to still the pounding.

“Well, simple when you have the aid of a god.”

“I suppose.”

“What happened to you?” That was the question that had nagged answering since the trio appeared days before.

“That’s a long story. Suffice it to say, my island was attacked, and I went home.”

“Home? You mean, The Ranch?” The Ranch being the first place James had lived after coming to this world. It had been a base of operations during his “war” with the Empire.

James shook his head. “No, I mean home. Earth.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “The place of your birth?”

“The same. You know how I was working on the teleportation pads?”

Miko nodded.

“Well, the battle culminated in an exchange of magic, it somehow tripped, and there we were.”

“What about Meliana and Kenny? Did they go as well?”

“No. As far as I know, they were either taken by the invaders, killed, or remain on the island. They took shelter in the manor during the attack.” He seriously wanted to find them magically, but wasn’t up to it despite the grave danger his and Jiron’s loved ones might be in. With head pounding and feeling as if he was about to pass out at any moment, he dared not make the attempt.

Miko nodded. He well knew the safeguards James had put in place to protect that refuge.

“You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

“No, but I shall send someone that way to find out.”

“Don’t bother. If the attackers failed to take them, then Kendrick would have picked them up when he arrived. Unless the attackers took him out, too.”

Leaning back in his chair, Miko grew thoughtful. “Was it the Empire?”

“The soldiers wore armor of the Empire, but the mage…” trailing off, he recalled the yellow glow of the mage’s magic. “He was not a warrior-priest. I doubt if he was part of Dmon-Li’s priesthood.”

“A mercenary mage?”

“Perhaps. Though a mage of that power could take over a country.” It had been staggering the amount of power the man had fielded.

“Then why come after you?”

James turned his eyes back toward the young man before him. Few knew that Miko was much younger than he appeared. Years had been stolen by the magic of the Fire, Dmon-Li’s focal point on this world. Now safely hidden in a cave deep beneath the Merchant’s Pass, it could no longer be used to spread the god’s foul influence.

“I don’t know. None of it makes any sense. Years of quiet solitude, then this. I’ve tried to come up with a good reason, but can’t think of one. The only one that makes even the smallest amount of sense is that forces within the Empire were seeking vengeance.”

He glanced back to Jiron and his daughter. “How are they?”

“She will be up soon. Her father….”

James returned his gaze to Miko.

“Jiron was dead when you arrived.”

“Dead?”

Miko nodded. “With Morcyth’s help, I was able to heal his body and return him his spirit. He will be weak for some time.”

“Thank you.”

“I was glad to help. Now, tell me what happened and how you came to be lost in the void between worlds.”

Miko sat in rapt attention during James’ narrative. Most of what he heard meant little to him. James had often spoken of his world after the time when that knowledge had been entrusted to him. Miko found it all very interesting, if a bit confusing. When James told of his ability to work magic on his home world, he grew interested, for James had always stated his world had no magic. He had no idea what a mental block was, or how it had inhibited James’ magical abilities. During the part played by the Little Brothers and the crossing, he became keenly interested.

“They actually helped you?”

James nodded. “Surprisingly enough, they knew of me. Or rather, of The Gardener.”

“Still, that raises some questions does it not? Like, is there a way between worlds that any can cross, or is it just for them?”

“They tried to show me the way and it almost killed me. I doubt if either you or I could traverse their pathways and survive.” Fatigue began asserting itself once again and James sagged back into the cot.

“It might be best if you kept my presence here quiet.”

Miko grinned. “Already done. None but my priests and Kip know you are here.” He gestured with his hand to include the entire room. “This place is sealed. It would take a mage of great power, or a god, to breach it.”

“Have any tried?”

“Constantly. But worry not, such attempts are quite normal. Other High Priests are curious about what I am doing. I have become quite the focal point of their attention of late.”

Eyes moving to the sword at the High Priest’s hip, he added, “No wonder, especially now that you and your priests are training with swords.”

“Jiron tell you that, did he?”

James nodded. “Are you merely keeping in shape?” His expression grew more solemn. “Or is there more to it?”

“A little bit of both I am afraid.” He then explained the latest news from Illan, and the sense of forebodings that have come over him of late.

Listening, James couldn’t help but feel a shudder upon hearing of the massacred village. Strange things indeed were afoot. “Dmon-Li stirring up trouble again?”

“Illan is not sure and I have yet to hear anything in that regard.”

“What has Perrilin to say about it?” Being a bard who was also an agent of the Cardri royal house, Perrilin was often sent into the Empire to ferret information.

“He has not been heard from for two years. He used to stop off at the Hawk’s Nest when passing through, but Illan says he has not been there for some time.”

Such information wasn’t necessarily bad, in and of itself. Perrilin has been known to disappear from time to time during periods of undercover work deep within the Empire. He thought about the significance of his disappearance coinciding with the attack on his island and the destruction of the village. It could be a coincidence. He hoped that it would be.

A period of quiet settled over the pair while James digested the news.

Miko watched as his friend slowly closed his eyes and slipped away into slumber. “Sleep, my friend. I shall see what can be discovered.”

He remained in his chair until Kip and Father Keller returned with a trio of broth-filled bowls and a single loaf of bread, suitable fare for those recuperating. “Kip, attend to their needs.”

His young Novice nodded.

“Father Keller, we have work to do.”

The Father fell in behind Miko as he left the room. He remained silent until the door had closed and they moved down the hallway toward the Inner Sanctum. “Things are bad, aren’t they?”

Miko glanced to the man beside him and nodded gravely. “They very well could be,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “His island was attacked and very nearly lost his life.”

Father Keller gasped. “Who could have done such a thing?”

“That is the problem. We do not know. To be honest, I did not think anyone could stand toe-to-toe with him and prevail.” Taking a left at a smaller, branching corridor, he hurried forward. “His wife and child are missing, as is Aleya.” Aleya being Jiron’s wife who had been in attendance on the island at the time of the attack.

Coming to the entrance of the Inner Sanctum, Miko paused before a blank wall. Intoning arcane, priestly words and passing his hand across the wall’s surface, he made an opening appear. Once they were through to the other side, the opening automatically sealed itself.

This had been where he and his priests had drawn James, Jiron and Jira from the ether on that fateful night. To his right, a narrow archway led to a small room wherein sat a mirrored table remarkably similar to what James had back on the island. Perhaps the most important lesson Miko had learned during his travels with James, had been the need for good intelligence. Between this table, and his itinerant priests going out to spread the word and searching for likely candidates, he had a pretty good idea of the happenings in the world.

Standing opposite Father Keller, Miko called forth the power of Morcyth and the flat surface answered his call. No longer a glassy, reflective field, it fluxed as he sought Meliana. Figuring her to be the one he could most readily find, he sent his senses southward. If James was correct in his assumption, then her father would have collected them and returned with them to his home in Corillian, a major port city on an island south of the Empire.

He would never tell James, but since he drew his magic from Morcyth, he had an easier time at this. James often complained that the farther away the target was, the more magic had to be expended. Miko on the other hand, felt no such additional draw. He put it down as one of the many benefits given him for his life of dedication.

Shortly, he felt something familiar as the magic narrowed its focus, the familiarity being the presence of Meliana and Kenny. They sat in an atrium upon a stone bench. She wore black as befitted a widow, Kenny had on dark browns.

“They’re alive,” commented Father Keller.

Miko nodded. “That will make James happy.” With a mental directive, the image changed to that of a kitchen where half a dozen women busily worked at various cooking functions. The image settled upon one woman wielding a knife as she shed tubers of their skins. She too dressed in black. Aleya.

Returning the image to Meliana one last time, he watched her for several moments before giving the magic another directive. This one was easy. In a flash, the image of James’ island appeared; a familiar view he indulged in from time to time.

Settling over the manor house, it revealed the structure intact with no sign the enemy mage had attempted to breach its defenses. “Strange.”

Father Keller flicked a glance toward his superior. “How so?”

“Why would the mage not make an attempt to capture or slay James’ family?” He looked up from the image.

“Perhaps he was only interested in destroying The Dark Mage.”

Miko remained silent.

Shifting once again, the image now showed the devastation surrounding where James’ workshop had once stood. Only one, seriously charred wall remained. The entire area was black, a huge swath of trees that once ringed it were but shattered remains of their former glory.

“A duel of such power. It is surprising he survived.” Of the teleportation pad that his friend had been working on there was no sign.

The image began scrolling along the path of destruction that went from the workshop area to the dock.

“What do you think he will do?”

Miko glanced again to Father Keller and shook his head. “I do not know. We shall have to wait until he awakens. In the meantime, see what our contacts on the streets know.”

“As you wish.”

While Father Keller departed to implement Miko’s orders, the image once again returned to Corillian where the mother and son sat in quiet sadness. He was glad they lived, for had they not, The Dark Mage would have turned the world asunder to wreak vengeance. With a thought, the table went blank and he left the Inner Sanctum.

Chapter Two

The feeling of being watched drew him from the nether reaches of slumber. Cracking open an eye, he was met by a pair of baby blues.

“Uncle! Mama lives!”

Engulfed by a pair of arms that elicited no small amount of pain in their exuberance, her words brought him fully awake. “She lives?” Glancing about the room, he caught sight of Kip and Miko sitting not far away playing a game of Bones and Daggers, a more ruthless form of chess popular among those of the streets.

Miko grinned and came to his feet. “And so are Meliana and Kenny. You were correct in your supposition that Kendrick would ferry them back to his home.”

Disengaging from Jira’s embrace, James sat up on the edge of the cot despite the discomfort such activity caused.

Kip was immediately at his side and offered a hand to help him to his feet.

“Show me.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” The look Miko received said volumes. “Very well.”

“Besides, if I collapse, you can always heal me, right?”

Miko chuckled and shook his head. “Not necessarily. The power of Morcyth must not be used lightly. Aches and pains are beneficial in their own way.” He cocked his head to the side. “They tell you when you are supposed to take it easy and allow your body to heal.”

James waved the comment aside. “First, show me my wife and son, then I’ll rest.”

As they made to leave, Miko relieved his young novice from helping James. “Stay with Jiron, Kip. I can take it from here.”

“Yes, Reverend Father.”

Miko rolled his eyes at the use of the honorific but remained silent. They took it slow in difference to his friend’s condition. Jira, with the resilience of youth, had already regained much of her vigor. Aside from an ache now and then where the bullet had struck, she felt fine and her step was spry.

At the room with the mirrored table, Miko had Jira move to support her uncle while he brought the image into being. Meliana and Kenny were no longer in the atrium. Instead, they were abed as the hour was late.

A tear rolled down his face as James gazed upon the blissful countenance of his wife. For so long had he feared the worst; slavery or death. To know they were safe in the protective care of her father had opened the floodgates of emotion.

Jira stood at the table, both hands gripping the edge and looking with keen interest at the sleeping pair. “Show mama, Uncle Miko.”

The image moved slightly and Aleya was found asleep in an adjacent room. Her long hair cascaded about the pillow. Jira reached out and traced her mother’s face.

James laid a hand on Miko’s arm and the image again returned to Meliana. How he longed to be with her; to feel her in his arms.

The image shifted again and his island came into view.

“The manor was not even touched,” Miko explained. Then the image shifted yet again. “Your workshop, though…”

James didn’t need for him to explain further. The devastation revealed within the image was as he remembered.

Just then, Father Keller appeared and glanced to his superior. “We have news.”

Miko nodded. “Let us return and allow our patient a chance to eat and rest.”

As the image disappeared, James took hold of Miko’s arm.

“Thank you.”

Patting him gently on the shoulder, the High Priest of Morcyth gave a nod and grin. “You are welcome.”

Jira grabbed his other arm, and with all her five year old authority, proceeded to lead him back to his cot. “When can we go and see my mother, Uncle?”

James glanced down at her. “Once your father is well enough to travel.”

“Tomorrow?

Chuckling, her uncle shook his head. “He will need more than a day to recover. Perhaps a week.” James glanced to Miko who nodded.

“That might be about right.”

She chewed her lower lip in thought. “I’ll help him to get better and we can leave sooner.”

Laying his hand upon her head, he patted her twice. “I’m sure you will.”

Back in the room, they found Jiron still asleep with Kip sitting next to him, using a cloth to dab away sweat droplets upon his brow.

Concerned, James asked, “Anything the matter?”

Coming to his feet, Kip spun to meet them. “No, sir. Merely trying to bring him what comfort I may.”

Miko nodded with approval. “Very good.

They sent Kip to the far side of the room to his cot with Jira in tow. Since he was their primary caregiver, as well as the fact they didn’t want him strolling through the temple and intermixing with his peers, they had him remain in the room with his patients. He set up the Bones and Dagger game as Jira was anxious to learn how to play. While the two were thus occupied, James laid down while Miko and Father Keller sat nearby.

“Rumors are circulating through the marketplace that something may have happened to The Dark Mage.” Father Keller kept his voice low so as not to allow the two across the room any chance of overhearing.

“Any particulars?” James asked.

“Plenty, but everyone is saying something different. One states that the Empire took you out. Another that your demonic servants turned upon you, and still another that the gods called down hellfire upon you in retribution for some perceived offense.”

James had to grin at the last. “Which one is the most popular?”

Father Keller cast a quick glance to Miko before returning his gaze to James. “Actually, none.”

“None? That seems surprising.”

“Uh, not really.” Miko gave him a crooked grin.

“Why?”

The two priests cast glances between them.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Well, it’s because the events everyone is speculating about happened over a fortnight ago,” explained Miko.

“So?”

“The people find those events hard to believe since you were seen in the City not two nights ago.”

James looked skeptical. “I was?”

Father Keller nodded. “You were in your usual black outfit while visiting your, uh, regular haunt.”

“My regular haunt?”

“The Pits.”

“The Pits? I’ve been nowhere near there. I hate everything…” Realization suddenly dawned. “Scar and Potbelly?”

Miko grinned and nodded. “They have this one fighter that looks sort of like you. Once a week or so, he makes an appearance at the Pits as you. Scar says the nights he’s there they make a killing.”

James was dumbfounded. They hadn’t even asked his permission. “I don’t suppose the guy does magic?”

“Actually, he does.”

“You’re kidding. How did they pull that off?”

“Tricks mostly. Slight of hand, that sort of thing. He is rather convincing.” Miko met James’ gaze unflinchingly, wondering what sort of reaction he would have. “They did not think you would mind, thought it would bolster your notoriety.”

Sighing, James shook his head, then chuckled. “Those two always have an angle going.”

Father Keller looked relieved. “You’re not angry?”

“No. I doubt if it would cause me any problems.” He glanced to Miko. “They don’t know I’m here, do they?”

Shaking his head, Miko replied, “No. Only my priests and I know your whereabouts.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I remember very well your scoldings time and again during our exploits on how you did not want anyone to know your business. And, considering the manner and condition in which you arrived, thought discretion to be prudent.”

James laughed. Maybe it was the fact he was on the mend, or perhaps a euphoric rush coming on the heels of knowing his loved ones were safe, but he couldn’t help it.

“You should rest,” Miko said. “Your body still has a ways to go before being fully healed.”

Stifling a yawn, James nodded agreement. “I think you may be right.”

“Kip will remain here and keep Jira occupied.”

James turned his gaze to the pair hunched over the game board. “He seems competent.”

“I have a feeling about him.”

Returning his attention to Miko he asked, “Oh?”

“Nothing like that. It is just that he is smart and very devoted. I figure he will make Acolyte quickly if he maintains focus.”

Once a Novice showed an aptitude and temperament for the priesthood, they were raised to Acolytes. After a period of study, and provided they retain their zeal for the work, they become Brothers.

Brothers were the workforce of the temple. To them fell the chore of training the Novices and Acolytes as well as being sent out as Recruiters. From Brother, one went on to become a Father who would then become a leader of the Faith, as well as one of Miko’s Inner Circle. It was after being raised to Brother status that martial training began, usually with swords or maces.

After Father came Reverend Father, or High Priest. Miko had gradually worked out the tiered system based on temples he had known during his younger years. Though, if the number of Morcyth’s followers continued to swell, he may have to institute a sixth tier either between Brother and Father, or Father and himself. But that decision was years away. He had far too much on his mind to worry about it now.

James nodded. For even in the short time he’d known the lad, Kip had shown intelligence and no small amount of spunk. Trying in vain to stifle another yawn, James laid his head back on the pillow.

“Get some sleep, my friend.”

“Might be a good idea at that.”

Sleep came quickly and lasted long into the next day.

Jiron didn’t regain consciousness for another two days. And when he did, he was as insistent as James had been in seeing his wife when Jira told him the good news. But unlike James, he had to be practically carried by Kip and Miko. James had offered, but Miko wouldn’t allow it, saying how he was still recovering.

Jiron openly wept upon seeing his lovely Aleya as she sat with Meliana in the atrium with Kenny on the ground before them. Wiping away tears, he sought, and failed, to get his emotions under control.

“Such unexpected expression of emotion is expected,” Miko assured him. “Especially considering how your spirit had departed your body for a short time.”

Eyes wet with tears turned upon him. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“I could not very well allow Jira to lose her father now, could I?”

He shook his head. Laying an arm across his daughter’s shoulders, he smiled. “I wish we could let her know that we have returned.”

James caught his eye and gave a little shake of his head. “Not yet.”

Meeting his friend’s gaze, understanding was slow to dawn. But when it did, he nodded. “You don’t want those who attacked your island to know you’re back.”

“Precisely. If that knowledge got out, Aleya, as well as Meliana and Kenny could be in danger. Unable to get to me, they might take them to be used to draw me out. We dare not risk it. Better sadness, than fear and harm.”

Jiron nodded again, then returned his gaze to the image upon the table. A tear filled with gladness and a touch of longing fell upon the surface.

“We best return,” Miko said as the image faded. “You still need days of rest.”

“I’m fine.”

Chuckling, Miko shook his head and with Kip’s help, practically carried him back to his cot. “When you can walk on your own, I will agree that you are fine.”

No sooner had he been laid out than he fell asleep.

James sat on the edge of his cot and gazed at Jiron’s sleeping form. “How long do you suppose it’ll be before he will be up to traveling?”

Sitting in his chair, Miko shrugged. “If it was anyone but Jiron, a month. But he’s strong and favored of the gods, so probably sooner.”

“Favored?”

“I believe so, yes. Did you not tell me how Igor selected and trained him so as to help you?”

Nodding, James said, “That’s right.”

“And from what I have heard from others, his skill with knives is unsurpassed.”

“Scar and Potbelly tell you that?”

Miko nodded and shrugged. “They came for a visit and drank a bit too much. I learned many things that night.”

“Such as my doppelganger they concocted?”

He grinned. “I doubt if they even realized they told me. Do you know they still plan on capturing a hell hound and using it in the Pits?”

“I thought they gave up that idea long ago.”

“Not so. They have not yet figured out how to do it, or where to find one, but the desire remains.”

James sighed and shook his head. “I hope they never do. It would eat them alive.”

“And that is why they have not gone for one yet.”

Tick-Tick-Tick

From the side of the room, a noise drew their attention. There they found Kip and Jira standing before two tables upon which was laid the equipment James and Jiron had brought from Earth. Kip had the Geiger counter in his hand and was frantically trying to silence it.

“Kip!”

Hearing Miko call his name, the young Novice put the counter behind his back and whirled to face him. “What? Oh… uh, yes, Reverend Father?”

“It’s alright,” James assured him. To Kip, he motioned for the lad to come forward.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered as he brought the Geiger counter out from behind his back.

Jira looked on in alarm. “You aren’t going to fry him, are you Uncle?”

In an instant, Kip’s embarrassed countenance turned to panic.

“Not this time,” James replied, while at the same time giving the Novice a stern gaze. “Though you might want to think twice before touching my things again. Some of it might get mad at you.” He winked at Miko but kept his face severe.

“Yes, sir.”

James took the Geiger counter that still clicked with background radiation and flipped the switch. The clicking stopped.

Eyeing the counter with interest, Miko said, “I have been meaning to ask you about that, and the other items.”

“Kip, why don’t you and Jira play Bones and Daggers while the Reverend Father and I talk.”

Glad for any excuse to beat a hasty retreat, Kip nodded. “Sure.” Taking Jira by the hand he went to their favored spot upon Kip’s cot and began setting out the pieces.

Once they were otherwise occupied, James returned his attention to Miko. Holding up the counter, he spoke in a hushed whisper, “I mean for us to recover the Star.”

Miko’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious. The entire area is death for anyone who enters.”

“I know. Remember how I told you that the explosion taking out Dmon-Li’s High Temple had been similar to what in my world would be called a nuclear explosion?”

“Yes. I recall you said that what killed everything was something called, ‘radiation’.”

“Precisely.” He patted the Geiger counter. “This is designed to detect radiation. It clicks when radiation is near.”

Miko glanced to the Counter with concern. “It was clicking just now.”

“Don’t worry about that. My people have long since known that radiation is everywhere. The slow clicking you heard is merely indicating the presence of ‘background radiation,’ which is harmless.”

“But, how will knowing where the radiation is aid in retrieving the Star?” He had thought about making the attempt, but feared the invisible death unleashed five years before.

“It won’t, by itself. But…” he gestured toward the two bulky packages containing the radiation suits, “with these, we can get it. When worn, they will protect us against the harmful effects of the radiation. All we need to do is walk in and get it. I trust that once there, you will be able to locate it?”

Miko nodded. “Oh, yes. That should not be a problem. Get me close, and it will call to me.”

“That’s what I was hoping.”

Alongside the suits rested the box containing Meliana’s box of chocolates and the six cocoa pods. With luck, he would be able to find a suitable location in which they can thrive.

Then there were the books. From the looks of it, someone had been going through them, most likely that rascal, Kip. James grinned as he imagined how the lad would have reacted to what was within. Most of it would be words unintelligible to anyone from this world. Of course, having been raised on the streets, it was unlikely the boy was literate. The diagrams and pictures would have proven of interest though. Hopefully, none of the “secrets” of his world had taken root. His grin turned into a full blown chuckle when he thought how such would violate the Prime Directive.

Miko cocked an eye his way.

James waved off the question. “It’s nothing.”

“Indeed. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, your most Reverend Self.”

Making to swat him, Miko grinned. “Keep up that ‘Reverend Self’ stuff, and I will see you get nothing but gruel during your convalescence.”

“That would be better than some of the food we’ve shared together.”

“True enough.”

James finally relented, or perhaps his body could take no more, and closed his eyes.

Coming to his feet, Miko crossed to where Kip and Jira played Bones and Daggers. Kip’s daggers had already decimated Jira’s and were closing in on her bones. Miko figured she wouldn’t last much longer, but her imminent loss didn’t appear to bother her. She had an intent look as she studied the board, trying to find the next, best move. Unfortunately, there weren’t any.

He caught Kip’s eye as he approached. “Keep things quiet while they rest.” He then indicated Jira with a nod of his head.

“Yes, Reverend Father.”

As he made his way across the room to the door, he heard Jira exclaim, “Rat poop!” followed by Kip’s “Another game?” He hoped the boy would take it easy and allow her to win one.

Once outside, he headed for his chambers. It had been several long days since time allowed any chance for relaxation. There was simply too much going on. He enjoyed having James at the temple, he just wished that it had been under better circumstances. His mind awhirl with plans and possibilities, he failed to notice Father Tullin coming down the corridor toward him until they were but feet apart.

“Ah, Reverend Father.” Hailing his superior, the younger priest came to a stop. With sword on the left and dagger on his right, and dressed in tattered, brown leathers rather than his priestly attire, Father Tullin looked more the thug, than one of spirituality. But then, most of his priests did as they were drawn from that segment of the populace.

Coming to a stop, Miko noticed the Father seemed rather tense. “Yes, Father Tullin?”

“You have a visitor.”

“At this late hour? Perhaps you could have him return in the morning.” Ready to resume his progress to hearth and bed, Miko was brought up short.

“I do not believe this can wait.” Lowering his voice, Father Tullin added, “The cat’s tail has been caught.”

Miko took the information with less than sublime equanimity. The cat’s tail has been caught, is a saying referring to how a rumor can be elusive, yet travels quickly like a cat. And when the tails have been caught, it means the truth of the rumor has been discovered. It was a rather archaic saying, but one that still surfaced from time to time.

There was only one rumor that he and his priests were concerned with at the moment, and that was the presence of The Dark Mage within the temple. If someone had figured out that he was there…

Miko nodded and signaled for Father Tullin to lead the way. “Is he alone?”

“Yes, Reverend Father.”

His study wasn’t far away, and after a right turn down a converging corridor, soon came to the door. “Remain here. Let no one in.” As Father Tullin bowed and took his position before the door, Miko pushed the door open.

A man, slightly shorter than himself, stood before the fireplace with back to the door. But even still, Miko readily recognized him. “Hello, Tinok.”

Long time, boyhood friend of Jiron’s, Tinok was a dark, brooding man. Having lost his bride on the night of their marriage to bandits had done something to him. Years afterward had been spent in the methodical hunt and execution of men of importance in the Empire. He blamed them for her death, and had killed many before his capture. Now, he spent much of his time in the Pits, venting anger that never cooled.

From the blood staining the front of his tunic, it was clear he had just come from a fight. As usual, there wasn’t a mark on him. His prowess with knives was only eclipsed by Jiron’s.

“Where’s Jiron?” No preamble, no salutary greeting, just a direct question.

Miko indicated a chair. “Please sit.”

Tinok remained where he was. “Is he here?”

“What makes you think that he is here?”

Tinok’s gaze was penetrating, the perpetual frown remained steadfast in place. “Rumors are flying about how James was killed. Your temple was in an uproar for two days but has now calmed.”

“Merely shaking things up a bit. Keeping them on their toes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

A veiled threat? “I have not.”

Dark, piercing eyes bored into his. “Is he here?” When Miko didn’t readily answer, he nodded. “I thought so. Where is he?”

“Recovering, but that stays between you and me.”

“Since he was visiting James, I take it he’s here too?”

Perceptive little bugger. “Yes. His island was attacked, and through means magical, managed to bring himself, Jiron and Jira here. All three were on the verge of death. My priests and I healed their wounds.”

“What about his wife?”

“Safe with Meliana and Kenny at Meliana’s father’s estate in Corillian.”

Quiet reigned between them for a moment. “Was it the Empire?”

“We do not know.”

Again, silence.

“Jiron is unconscious and isn’t to have any visitors.”

Tinok’s eyes narrowed.

Miko met his gaze without flinching. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, though doubted if Tinok posed any serious threat. At least he hoped so. The man was hard to read and for him, that in itself spoke volumes. Those dark eyes remained riveted on his, unblinking and unwavering.

“So be it.”

As Tinok turned to go, Miko said, “Try not to be seen coming or going. If word should leak out that they are here, it could complicate things.”

Tinok didn’t say a word as he crossed to the door, swung it open, and left.

Father Tullin stepped aside as Tinok moved past.

“Escort him if you would, Father Tullin.”

“Yes, Reverend Father.” Keeping six steps behind, the priest followed Tinok down the corridor and around the corner.

Miko watched them go until they rounded the corner and were out of sight. He sagged into a chair before the fire and worried. If Tinok, who rarely left the area near the Pits had figured it out, then how many others had too?

Minutes ticked by as he considered the problem. When Father Tullin returned to report that Tinok had left the Temple grounds, he had reached a decision. “Father, see if Scar or Potbelly would call upon me in the morning. Tell them nothing about what happened, nor about our late night visitor.”

Bowing respectfully, Father Tullin backed from the room and set about to carry out Miko’s request.

Perhaps their doppelganger of James wouldn’t mind putting in an appearance to throw a bar in the runaway rumor mill.

Chapter Three

The following morning when Miko went to check on his guests, he found the trio sitting at one of the tables sharing a morning repast. Kip practically hovered around Jiron, his concern for the man’s weakened state driving the one-time Pit fighter to distraction.

“Leave me alone, boy. I’m not going to topple to the floor.”

“As you wish.” Backing off barely an inch, Kip retained his position.

Miko couldn’t help but grin, if for no other reason than Jiron’s discomfiture beneath Kip’s over-protectiveness. “Good morning to you all.”

James turned and waved him to join them. “Kip and Father Keller were kind enough to supply a feast fit for a king.” Eggs, slabs of bacon, rolls, and a creation of James’ that had taken the baking world by storm over the last couple of years, were laid out upon the table. His creation consisted of a rounded piece of dough with the center cut out, fried in fat, and topped with honey, molasses, or any number of sweet confectionary delights. James called them doughnuts; the bakers called them gold.

“Thank you. I would be happy to.” Taking the empty chair next to James, Miko helped himself to three of the molasses-topped doughnuts, his personal favorite. He glanced to Kip and saw him grin. His penchant for sweets was well known throughout the Temple, and was certain the number and variety with which they broke their fast played no small role.

“Tinok knows you are here.” Glancing his way, he could see Jiron’s surprise.

“How? Are your priests talking?”

“Hardly. He is far from dim-witted. Once the rumors began circulating, he figured it out.”

“He always was rather bright.”

James wasn’t nearly as okay with this. “I don’t know if I like him knowing we’re here. He could tell someone and the game would be over.”

Jiron shook his head. “I don’t think Tinok would give us away.”

“Not intentionally, no. But if whoever attacked my island has agents in the city, you can bet he’s being watched.”

“I cautioned him about keeping on the lookout for spies,” Miko assured.

“Still, he hasn’t been the same since we rescued him from Ith-Zirul.” Ith-Zirul, the one-time High Temple of Dmon-Li was now but a memory. After Tinok had been captured and taken there, James, Jiron, and a band of rescuers affected his freedom, and in the process destroyed the majority of the evil god’s priesthood, as well as preventing the god from crossing over which would have effectively destroyed the world.

“He changed long before that.” Taking a roll, Jiron slathered it with a healthy portion of butter. “It was Cassie’s death that did it. Sort of went crazy there for a time.” Taking a bite, he savored the fresh baked goodness that held just a hint of nuttiness.

“Do not worry, I have someone keeping an eye on him.”

Jiron turned to Miko. “Do you think that wise? If he finds your man trailing him, things could get ugly.”

“There is risk in all things. Let me worry about my people.”

Shrugging, Jiron shoved the remainder of the roll into his mouth and reached for another.

“Father, when can we leave to see mother?”

He cast a look into his daughter’s anxious eyes. “Soon.”

James chuckled. “If you keep eating like that, probably in a couple days.”

Perking up, she flashed her uncle an expectant look. “Really?”

“Well, we’re not going to leave until we are certain the journey won’t do him any harm.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t have him falling off his horse or anything like that.”

Amused at the image of her father taking a tumble, she giggled.

The day passed in slow tedium. Being relegated to a single room gave them little to do. They dared not roam the Temple for fear of being recognized. Jiron slept, and Jira played countless games of Bones and Daggers with Kip. Miko stopped in from time to time, but Temple business demanded his attention and kept his visits brief. James, impatient with inaction, paced.

He liked the fact his magic was back to normal, every hour or so he created his orb just for the familiar feel of doing so. One of his fears after returning from Earth had been whether or not his ability for magic would be affected by his time back home. Since having to acclimatize to Earth’s magical resonance, he feared to have to re-acclimatize to this one. But as it turned out, magic came readily.

By the time Kip was sent to fetch dinner, Tinok had failed to show. Jiron had regained some of his strength, though he remained unable to rise if Jira was atop him. He had hoped to have been able to speak with his friend.

Miko returned with Kip and Father Keller to join them for their evening meal. “No sign of Tinok.”

Frowning, Jiron turned toward Miko. “When you talked with him, did he say he would return?”

“No. He merely left the room.”

James glanced his way. “Do you think he’s up to something?”

Jiron shrugged. “I don’t know. I was certain he would have returned by now.”

The meal was heartier than the day before, testament to Miko’s belief that they were improving. Slabs of beef, three loaves of bread, an abundant array of fresh vegetables, and of course two dozen tarts, rounded out the meal.

“Maybe we should go check on him,” James suggested. In actuality, he wanted out of the room more than any belief that Tinok needed to be tracked down.

Miko cocked an eye at him. “Would that be wise?”

“Probably not, but we should see.”

“I will send Father Tullin to the Pits tonight. He is known there and his presence would not arouse suspicion.”

Getting a quizzical look, James asked, “A priest hangs out at the Pits?”

“He ‘ministers’ to them.” Miko couldn’t help but crack a grin.

“He does, huh?” James wasn’t convinced. He knew somewhat of Miko’s burgeoning intelligence network, and knew also that many nefarious characters as well as nobility incognito, could be found rubbing elbows at Scar and Potbelly’s less than reputable enterprise. It was far from uncommon for most of the spectators of the Death Matches to be masked, for such contests had been deemed vile and against the law.

“Absolutely. In fact, I have three Brothers that were once participants.”

James shook his head. “Your priests don’t exactly fit the norm as holy men go.”

Laughing, Miko nodded. “You are not the first to make that observation, and probably will not be the last.”

A knock forestalled any further conversation. Kip hopped up and rushed over. Opening the door a crack, he peered through then stepped aside to allow Father Vickor to enter.

When James saw him, he couldn’t help but wonder if any of Miko’s priests wore raiment fitting their station. He had known Father Vickor since his wedding before the Temple had been restored. Scary is what comes to mind when one looks at the one time street brawler. Dressed in worn, brown leathers with a mace swinging at his hip, the priest gave off the presence of one ready to snatch the head off of anyone who crossed him. Miko had seen something in him, and thus far, that trust had not proven in error.

Coming to a stop six paces within the room, Father Vickor said, “Reverend Father, Lord Pytherian wishes an audience.”

James cast Miko a worried glance. Lord Pytherian was a prominent figure in Madoc politics. Highest ranking general, he held the charge for maintaining Madoc’s military and security. He had been instrumental in holding the Alliance together during the Madoc/Empire war five years ago.

“Is he at the Temple?”

Father Vickor shook his head. “He has requested for you to meet with him at the Keep.”

Silent for several seconds, Miko nodded. “Tell his man that I will attend him shortly.”

Nodding, Father Vickor turned on his heels and left the room. Kip closed the door and returned to his place at the table.

“Do you think he knows?”

Miko turned to James. “We shall see.” After finishing what remained upon his plate, Miko grabbed two tarts and came to his feet. Kip dashed to open the door for his spiritual superior.

One tart was gone before he reached the door, and the other was in the process of vanishing as he passed through.

James watched his friend leave, hoping the summons did not foreshadow forthcoming complications.

Miko made his way through the Temple. Along with Father Vickor, he picked up five of the more martially inclined Brothers to accompany him. The group passed from the Temple and made its way through the streets toward the towering Keep in the distance.

They looked nothing like holy men, more like a bunch of ne’er-do-wells searching for trouble. Upon reaching the main gate in the curtain wall surrounding the Keep, the guard on duty recognized Miko, snapped to attention, and allowed them to pass without a word. Over the years, he had been a frequent visitor of Lord Pytherian’s and most of the guard knew him by sight.

Beyond the gate stretched the Keep’s courtyard. A few people were about as the hour was not that late; soldiers, civilians, and several wagons belonging to merchants returning from dropping off supplies.

Miko spied a man emerge from the keep and take position at the top of the steps. Even in the dim light of evening he could readily tell it to be Henri, aide-de-camp to Lord Pytherian, a good soldier and steadfast in his loyalty lord and country. He saw them approach and descended the steps.

“His Lordship appreciates your coming so quickly, Reverend Father.”

Miko nodded. “What is going on?”

Henri turned back toward the Keep. “It would be best if you heard it from His Lordship.”

They proceeded across the remainder of the courtyard and entered the Keep. Henri led them to one of the smaller meeting rooms, those that Lord Pytherian preferred during more informal gatherings.

Coming to a stop before the door, Henri opened it and stood back to allow Miko first entry. Lord Pytherian was already there.

“Miko!” he said, coming to his feet.

Miko relaxed, for so informal a greeting had to mean less than dire news awaited. He nodded toward Madoc’s most powerful general, “My lord.”

The general gestured to the chair across from his own. “Please, have a seat.”

Sitting, Miko asked, “How may the Temple be of service?”

Father Vickor and the other five priests positioned themselves behind their superior.

Lord Pytherian offered his guest a glass of wine, but was declined. He sat.

“Let me get straight to the heart of it. Word has reached the Patriarchal Council that The Dark Mage was attacked, his island destroyed, and he himself killed.” He paused to see what effect his words were having, but his guests’ faces told him little. “It is the belief among the Council that the attack was perpetrated by the Empire in prelude to another war.”

Miko digested that in quiet contemplation. “I heard about the incident at James’ island, and as far as I can gather the attack did happen. I believe, however, the rumors concerning his death may be a bit premature. It would take quite a sizeable force to overcome him, a force the Empire in its current fractured and squabbling state would be unable to field.”

Lord Pytherian nodded. “That was my belief as well. However, an event transpired earlier today that casts doubt upon that assumption. Four men were found slaughtered in the Merchant’s Quarter. Three were obviously of Empire stock while the fourth was one of ours, a man well known for his involvement in the seedier side of life.”

“I fail to see how the two events are related.” Miko could see there was more of the story yet to be told.

“One of the men was a priest of Dmon-Li, or at the very least, an agent. He bore their mark.” The mark to which he referred was that of three dots forming the points of a triangle with lines running between them yet not touching. Miko and James had plenty of experience with men bearing such, usually bad ones.

“That does bode ill.”

“And, they had been killed with knives.”

“Knives?”

Lord Pytherian nodded. “Knives very similar to what The Dark Mage’s friend, Jiron, utilizes.” He searched Miko’s eyes, but again discovered little.

“Jiron departed with his family for the island weeks ago to take part in James’ son’s birthday celebration. He would not have had time to return and kill these men.”

“You are certain of this?”

“Quite. It is also worthy to note that had these men’s identities been uncovered, any number of citizens would not have hesitated in taking their lives. Many lost loved ones and had lives torn asunder during the enemy’s occupation.”

“We have not discounted such a possibility, merely trying to ascertain the potential threat behind the men’s presence within our city.”

Miko could tell there was more to the attack that was being left unsaid, what exactly that may be remained elusive. “Was there anything else?”

Lord Pytherian nodded. “You haven’t heard from James, have you? If there would be one person to whom he would turn in a time of trouble, it would be you.”

“He has not contacted me for help, or in any way made his situation known.” Which was true, Miko had been the one to initiate contact when he found them floundering in the ether between worlds.

“Will you let me know the instant you hear from him?”

“As soon as he contacts me, you will be notified.” That seemed to placate the general. “And, should further information come to light about the four men killed, I will pass it on.”

“I would appreciate that,” he replied, then came to his feet signaling the meeting to be at an end.

Miko rose, his priests followed suit.

“I and the Council appreciate your time, Reverend Father. Thank you again for coming.

“It was my pleasure, my lord.”

Coming around the desk, the general crossed to the door and knocked. From the other side, Henri opened the door and stood at attention as the visitors departed.

“Have a good evening, Reverend Father.”

“And you as well, General.”

Henri escorted them back to the courtyard outside and left them at the gate.

Once he and his priests had passed beyond sight of the curtain wall, Father Vickor asked, “What do you make of that?”

“I fear Tinok’s failure to appear and the four men’s death may be related.”

“That would make sense. If agents for those responsible for the attack on The Dark Mage’s island had been following him, he would assuredly have killed them had he discovered them.”

Miko nodded. “Did you hear how Lord Pytherian related the manner of their deaths? He did not say they were killed, but that they had been slaughtered.” He glanced to his senior-most priest. “That sounds like how Tinok would leave them.”

“Indeed.”

Back at the Temple, Miko related what he had learned to Jiron and James. Fathers Vickor and Keller were there as well. When he completed his narrative, he glanced to Jiron. “Do you think it was Tinok?”

“If he discovered them trailing him, absolutely. I doubt if he would even hesitate.”

“Then we need to proceed on the assumption that those who attacked my island have agents within the city. We may need to depart before you fully recover.”

“Fine by me. No offense Miko, your hospitality has been great. But a few more days in this room and I would have gone crazy.”

“Me too,” piped up Jira. “I want to see Mother.”

“As do I,” her father agreed.

James glanced to Miko. “How soon can you leave?”

“Today if we must, but that would arouse suspicion. Three would be better. That would allow time to adequately prepare a cover story about visiting Black Hawk in the hopes of learning more of ‘The Dark Mage’s circumstance.’ Also, Father Tullin can root around the Pits for more information on Tinok.” He cast a questioning glance to Father Keller.

“He has yet to return.”

“Trouble?” James asked.

“No. Father Tullin is often late in returning during his sojourns to minister to the fighters. He heals their more serious wounds, listens to their problems, and at times drinks them under the table at the Bent Blade. Claims he learns the most when the ale flows freest.”

“Okay. Three days it is. We head to Hawk’s Nest and discover what Illan knows, then it’s straight through the heart of the Empire to its southern shore where we’ll take ship to Corillian.”

“Planning any side trips?” Jiron asked.

James shrugged. “One never knows.”

“I think we should pay Lord Cytok a visit. He has to know something.”

“Our main goal is to get through to our families, preferably without alerting anyone to our presence. After we’re reunited, then we’ll see about Lord Cytok.” James indicated Jira with a silent nod of his head.

Jiron understood and completely agreed. As long as she was with them, they couldn’t take unnecessary risks.

“Okay then.” Coming to his feet, Miko gestured for Fathers Vickor and Keller to rise as well. “If we are to leave in three days, there are things needing to be done. I will leave you to your rest.”

“Let us know if you hear anything about Tinok,” James said.

“I shall.”

After he left, Miko set the two Fathers to make preparations for travel, then went in search of Father Tullin. He hadn’t been surprised to learn that the priest had yet to return. The next hour was spent in moving through the halls of the Temple, checking different aspects of Temple life to ensure all remained running as it should.

His first stop was the kitchen and storehouse. Twice daily they fed the needy a hot meal which at first had attracted few takers. Now though, it wasn’t unusual to have a hundred or more street kids, prostitutes, thugs, and every other sort of depraved and destitute that humanity had to offer.

Of those that came, Brothers would pass among them, ministering to those in need, listening to others, and above all, keeping track of those that tended to come frequently. Those who grew to become regulars might one day prove to be a boon in disguise; either as future Novices, or informants. They’ve received many “tips” about goings on in the city from bellies that had been filled out of sheer generosity. Strange thing about people, even if nothing is asked in return, most feel they owe a debt to those that give. It weighs on their conscious until an act is performed that brings the scales into balance once more. Sometimes, Miko wondered if the hand of Morcyth tipped the scales more in those with the ability and temperament to help.

Brother Horka oversaw the kitchen and everything to do with feeding the poor. Miko could always count on him to have a couple tarts on hand no matter the hour in the event a certain high ranking priest desired them. Three of the red-berry filled ones were left. Miko scooped up two.

At this hour, the kitchen and dining hall were busy and filled with priests of every station. Novices, Acolytes, Brothers and Fathers sat about the tables busily consuming the fare provided. Greetings flowed toward him as he made his way through the crowded hall. A word here and a nod there allowed him to continue through to the kitchen area.

Within, the place was a bustle of activity. Of the many lessons learned from James, cleanliness was perhaps the one that had taken root the most. “Keep it clean, and sickness stays away.” That statement had proven true. Scrubbing everything with hot water and soap after every meal had kept his people healthy with little more than the occasional stomach flu cropping up now and again.

He caught sight of Brother Horka berating a Novice who had apparently failed to remove all foodstuffs from what the lad claimed to be a pot just cleaned. Keeping out of the Novice’s line of sight, he drew the Brother’s attention and nodded to the back room. Pausing in his tirade only long enough to give acknowledgment, the Brother quickly resumed haranguing the poor lad.

The room in which Miko waited was but one of three storerooms allocated to the kitchen. This one held barrels of dry goods as well as crates of vegetables. Miko parked himself upon one containing apples, then proceeded to finish off the last of the tart. He didn’t have long to wait before his priest entered.

Once the door closed, he said, “We leave in three days.”

“Three days, Reverend Father?”

Miko nodded. “Until then, I need you to see what you can find out about four bodies found in the Merchant’s Quarter earlier today. One bore the mark of Dmon-Li.”

Brother Horka’s eyes widened at the name of the dark god. “He is stirring again?” Once a priest assumed the title “Brother,” they were informed about certain past events, especially those detailing how the priesthood of Dmon-Li had wiped out their predecessors.

“Perhaps, though it may have been someone who once worked for them but does so no longer.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Good. Also, let it slip that I plan to visit Black Hawk for a few days. Do not mention when I plan to leave, just that I am.”

Brother Horka nodded. “Do you believe these dead men may have something to do with our…guests?”

“Until we know otherwise, assume that they do.”

“Very well.”

Hopping off the crate, Miko patted his priest on the shoulder. “With Morcyth’s aid, we will figure this out.”

“May He guide us.”

After leaving the storeroom, Miko spoke in turn with half a dozen subordinates about matters of little importance as he wended his way back through the dining hall. He picked up the last of the tarts and enjoyed it on his way to his rooms. Having done all he could this night, he spent the rest of the evening in quiet contemplation of the day’s events and what the future may hold.

Later that night, when only the light of a lone candle held back the shadows, Jira raised her head and looked to the others with whom she shared the room. Her father and uncle were fast asleep, and over in his cot, Kip’s form remained still.

From beneath her pillow, she brought forth two small pieces of vegetables taken from this evening’s repast. Though not much, she hoped the carrot and tuber could be used to entice an earth spirit to show itself.

Hopping off her cot, her bare feet landed upon the cold stone causing a shiver to course through her. With vegetables in hand, she moved to the end of her cot and knelt upon the floor. Her clothes did little to shield her knees from the coldness of the stone and another shiver shook her little frame.

Upon the stone before her, she laid the vegetables a hand-span apart. “Little Brothers…,” she whispered, then cast a furtive look toward the sleeping forms. Seeing that they remained undisturbed, she tried again.

“Little Brothers, I have something for you.”

Kneeling at the foot of her cot, she waited. Harkening back to when her uncle had done this, she remembered he had them sing to entice the earth spirits into appearing. Soon, her voice, soft and quiet, began singing the same lullaby they had sung on her uncle’s home world.

Minutes ticked by and no earth spirit deigned to make an appearance. When her knees grew sore and her teeth set to chattering, she decided to give up and return to bed. Of course, insistent yawning had added its voice to the chorus urging her back to the welcoming warmth of her covers.

She hopped back in bed and snuggled in deeply. “You can have the food, Little Brothers,” she whispered as consciousness gradually drifted away. In the morning, the carrot and tuber were gone.

Chapter Four

Father Tullin arrived late the following morning looking the worse for wear. He entered Miko’s study and made proper obeisance, though his bow was slightly off kilter.

“Wild night?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.”

Miko motioned for his man to sit and be comfortable. “You really go all out for us, don’t you?”

Cracking a grin, Father Tullin nodded. “Whatever is required.”

From a pitcher, Miko poured a glass of water and scooted it across the table. “Here.”

“Thank you.” He drank the liquid and asked for another.

“Did you speak with Tinok?”

After draining the second glassful, he shook his head. “He never showed. Potbelly was quite mad. Seems he had arranged a match with an out of town favorite. Tinok not showing cost him a hundred gold, or so he claims.”

Miko cast his priest a questioning look as he held up the pitcher.

Father Tullin shook his head. “Any more and it’s going to come back up.” He worked to get his stomach under control before continuing. “They did as you suggested and their false Dark Mage made an appearance. It appeared to work. By the end of the second match, most rumors had been silenced.”

“That will only work for the Pit crowd, but at least it is something.”

“True.”

“We are leaving in three days. Make that two, now.”

“We? You’re going with them?”

Miko nodded. “I plan to take Fathers Vickor and Keller with me. Kip too I suppose. He is in this and we cannot risk leaving him behind. We will head down to see Illan, then make our way into the Empire.”

Father Tullin frowned. “I don’t like it. Why do you have to go?”

Silence hung in the air for several seconds before Miko responded. “There is a matter that requires my attention.”

It was Tullin’s turn to grow quiet. “There’s something else. Not sure if it means anything.”

“What?”

“Well, I heard a couple of the fighters talking about a body found near the Pits four days ago.”

“Four?”

Father Tullin nodded. “Bodies found in the vicinity aren’t unusual enough to cause men to talk about unless it was one of them.” He paused a moment as he glanced toward his superior.

Miko nodded for him to continue.

“It wasn’t the identity of the man they had been discussing, though it did come up. No, it was the manner in which the body had been found that aroused conversation. Twin cuts to the chest, one on either side of the heart. Apparently, the cuts were delivered in a very precise manner, something one doesn’t see in combat.”

“Knives?” Miko asked, afraid to know the truth.

Father Tullin shook his head. “They believed the wounds were caused by a sword’s blade. I thought you might be interested, so I asked a few question to see if I could discover the man’s identity.”

He paused momentarily, then leaned closer. “He was a priest.”

Miko’s eyes widened. “A priest? Whose?”

“T’Lea’s.”

T’Lea, god of assassins, his name was used to frighten children into doing their parent’s bidding. If you don’t do your chores, T’Lea will send one of his Aega’s after you. Aegas were created from the darkest souls that had been delivered into T’Lea’s realm. Only those who never performed an act of good, who instead had dedicated their lives to the basest and most evil atrocities were said to be granted such an exalted position.

“I didn’t know they held a presence in the City of Light.”

“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.”

James turned his dog mask to the priest. “Really?”

“Yes. To draw blood shows that they lack the proper skill to prevent it.”

“Then how do they determine the winner?”

“Once the fight is over, the crowd cheers for the one they liked the best. He who receives the loudest acclaim, wins.”

Jiron chuckled. “It’s actually working very well, at least from what they tell me. Potbelly claims that once a person gets a taste for the Exhibitions, it’s easy enough to get them to the real matches.”

“I suppose so.”

At the entrance, James almost expected to find a kiosk where those attending would pay a fee. He figured that would come soon. The real money the Masters of the Pit take in come in the way of wagers. Just as people would bet at the track in his world, so too did they bet on the winners in this one. One could even win extra if his bet was marked kill, rather than just win. But then if the loser of the match survived, they received nothing.

The crowd at the entrance was thick, and the hallway extending into the building was choked with people. Along this hallway, six others branched off each leading to a pair of Pits. There were a dozen in all, each with their own taproom where ale and food could be procured for a price, a steep price if James recalled correctly.

Just within the entrance began the Pit Boards. Upon these were listed the names, matches, and rough estimate of times when the matches were to begin. Each Pit had two boards, one for today’s matches, and the other for tomorrow’s. The second board had been suggested by James and was readily implemented by the new Masters of the Pit.

Along with the betting against the house, patrons would bet among themselves. Throughout the building, James could overhear snippets of conversation that would put rival Super Bowl enthusiasts to shame. Once in a while such energetic “conversations” would get out of control, so Scar and Potbelly had placed a number of those Pit Fighters who were not slated for matches throughout the hallways to maintain order. Woe be it to them whose actions caused these guards to intervene. It has been rumored that more than one disturber of the peace at the Pits turned up broken and missing parts of their body.

Jiron knew just about everyone there. After all, having grown to manhood within the Pits, it was now a regular haunt of his when not otherwise engaged. Without the mask, he would have assuredly been recognized by now. To further disguise himself, he had left his trademark blades at home, and had taken but a single dagger.

James scanned the Match Boards as they passed. None listed Tinok’s name. He knew of the saying, there were the Pits, then there were the Pits! Most patrons were unaware that a thirteenth Pit was located within this building. Or rather, beneath it.

In a sub-basement with but a single, well guarded entrance, those in-the-know and with a heavy purse could see matches the way they used to be fought back before the Empire’s occupation. No rules other than the match wasn’t over until one was either dead, or unconscious. Most often, matches within the thirteenth Pit ended tragically.

Midway down the main hallway, a bottleneck had been created by a strategically placed hawker of ale and jerked beef. Three casks of ale rested upon wall-mounted brackets, one was even now being replaced with a fresh one. By the end of the night, if it was a good night, each bracket would see five or more separate replacements. James had once thought of broaching the idea of t-shirts, foam fingers, and bobble-heads with Scar and Potbelly, but considered that might be pushing things a mite.

Father Tullin led them through the bottleneck and had just reached the last pair of hallways leading to The Pits, when Scar appeared coming their way. Deep in conversation with a short man wearing a brace of throwing knives, he passed by without so much as a nod. Once Scar and his companion had been swallowed by the crowd, James turned to Jiron.

“Shorty works here, too?” Shorty, one-time Pit fighter, knife thrower extraordinaire, and companion during James’ quest to rescue Miko from slavery, was a face James knew well.

“Yes. He and Stig both work here, as well as Fifer.”

“Fifer?” That was a surprise. Fifer had lost a leg during the campaign to recover the Star. “Thought he was out at The Ranch with Roland?”

Jiron shook his head. “Potbelly called him in to help train the Swodders.”

Swodders, of course, being the combination of the words “sword” and “fodder.” Shorty coined that word during a binge. He had been trying to say “They ain’t nothing but sword fodder,” but his excessive state of inebriation caused a severe slurring of the words and it came out “They ain’t nuth bu’ swodders.” When those with him finally figured out what he was trying to say, they began using the word to irritate him, and it stuck. Now it was an integral part of Pit lexicon.

At the end of the hallway, before a door embossed with a pair of crossed swords, stood two pit-fighters-turned-guards. Though James had never been within the Pits before, he knew that this door was the only access the general public had to the thirteenth pit, and that access was by invitation only. Of course, once invited, you could frequent it whenever you wished, as well as bringing along friends.

Father Tullin was well known to everyone connected with the Pits, and when the guards realized his destination was the door, they opened it for him.

“Father,” they said in unison.

The priest gave them a friendly smile and nod. “Thank you.” He caught them eyeing his two companions. “Have a couple friends here who might be interested in what lies beyond the dragon’s eye.”

“Of course,” the guard on the right said.

“I hear the match tonight will be a good one,” the other commented.

“We’ll see.” Gesturing for his two masked comrades to follow, he passed through the door and into a well-lit, narrow passage.

Once the door closed behind them, James asked, “What’s this about what lies beyond the dragon’s eye?”

“It’s a code Scar implemented after an assassination took place below. The assassin forced one of the Pit’s regulars to bring him past the guards and then proceeded to kill a rather influential trader. Seems the man’s competitor wanted to secure a bid and had him taken out.”

Jiron nodded. “Caused quite a stir, almost shut this place down.”

“So now,” continued Father Tullin, “if you bring anyone that they don’t know, or is masked, you give them the password. If you don’t, expect to experience a delay in reaching the Pit.”

James laughed. “I could imagine.”

The narrow passage opened onto a room wherein waited another four guards. Father Tullin nodded to them as he crossed to the head of a circular flight of steps leading down. The guards were engaged in a game of dice and hardly gave them more than a cursory glance before returning to their game.

From out of the stairwell came the sound of many conversations, laughter, and curses. At the bottom, they exited into a Pit area twice as large as any of those above. It was filled to capacity with a plethora of masks, hoods, and helms. To James’ surprise, there were quite a few who didn’t have any sort of concealment at all.

Father Tullin took his arm. “Stay close so we don’t get separated.”

“And keep a firm hand on your coin pouch,” Jiron added. “Though thieves are dealt with harshly in the Pit, often forced to face the greenest of fighters, thefts do happen from time to time.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The actual Pit in which the fights take place was at the center of the room. A bandstand of sorts encircled the fighting area with six rows of benches. From three satellite rooms branching off from this one came the aroma of roasting beef and fresh baked bread. Scar and Potbelly really knew how to bilk their customers for all they were worth. James wondered if the previous Master of the Pit had been as devious.

“I tell you he has never been beaten!”

“Bah! Tinok will hand him his liver in the first five minutes.”

While Father Tullin paused to converse with a man in a dark hood that hid all but the tip of his nose and the fact that there were piercing blue eyes beneath, James turned his attention to an argument unfolding nearby.

A helmed man, dressed as a guard with black bands encompassing where his employer’s insignia would be, stood toe-to-toe with another in a bright orange robe with a mask comprised almost entirely of feathers.

“They say no man has ever lasted more than five minutes against him,” Helmed Man asserted.

“And I tell you, there is no one able to withstand Tinok’s knives,” Feather Mask argued. “He’ll have this newcomer sliced and diced before sustaining a single blow.”

“Five golds say you’re wrong!”

“Ten!”

“Done!”

Similar conversations were in progress throughout the viewing area. Jiron took James by the arm and worked them closer to the edge. Already, the railing had filled to capacity, but Jiron managed to shove aside a smaller man dressed in a brown cloak wearing a rat-head mask to make room. The man looked ready to say something, but backed down upon realizing Jiron was not alone.

Indicating two doors on either side of the pit below, Jiron said, “Tinok and his opponent will emerge from opposite sides. They will pause and size up each other while the particulars of the match are announced, then the fight will commence.”

“Bring back memories?”

Jiron nodded. “I miss it, though I would never tell my wife that.”

Chuckling, James slapped his friend on the back.

The pit itself had a diameter of roughly fifty feet with an earthen floor. A wall seven feet tall with the railing at the edge adding another three feet, prevented any combatant to flee before the match was over. The floor was earthen and looked to have been recently raked smooth. To James, the place felt like the Roman Coliseum, but in miniature.

“How soon before it begins?”

Jiron shrugged. “It will when it does. Though judging by how crowded the place has become, they won’t want to hold off much longer.” He glanced to James. “Keeping important patrons waiting is bad for business.”

“I understand that,” James said.

Off to their left, Father Tullin conversed with three men in various stages of disguise. The way people gravitated to the priest led James to believe that he must be a favorite among them.

James sought faces in the sea of masks and hoods, not for any real desire to see who was there, but for something to do while waiting for the match to start. The expressions encountered ranged from excited to solemn. His gaze continued in a slow sweep until something about a man from the Empire registered familiarity. It took him a moment to recall the memory, and when he did, his eyes narrowed.

Nudging Jiron with his elbow, he surreptitiously pointed across to the man. “Isn’t he the one we saw Tinok with earlier?”

Jiron saw the man standing with two fellows and nodded. “Yes, it is.” He remembered very well seeing this man walking with Tinok when they had sought his whereabouts before.

“Wonder what he’s doing here?”

Jiron glanced sidelong at his friend and shook his head.

James turned toward Father Tullin and caught the priest’s attention with a wave and motioned for him to join them.

Breaking off his conversation, Father Tullin was soon at their side. “Sorry about that. Everyone seems desirous in entering into discourse this evening.”

“Not a problem,” James assured him, then directed his gaze to the man across the pit. “Have you ever seen that man before?”

Following the discreet gesture, the priest sought the man in question. “Which one?”

“The unmasked fellow from the Empire.”

Father Tullin shook his head. “No. Can’t say that I have.”

Keeping his voice low, Jiron said, “He’s been in Tinok’s company of late.”

“He has?”

James nodded. “I don’t suppose you could wander over there and find out who he is?”

Slapping him on the back, Father Tullin said, “I can but try.”

While the priest worked his way through the crowd and the number of people who were, as he said, “desirous of discourse,” James and Jiron kept a surreptitious watch on the man and those he stood with. When James happened to glance toward the priest, found him to be mired in a conversation with two people in hoods. “I guess there’s no hurry.”

Jiron saw the priest’s predicament. “No, there isn’t.”

The sudden sound of bolts being thrown and the subsequent creaking of poorly kept hinges announced the match was soon to begin. Within the pit, the doors on either side swung open.

Chapter Five

Out of the door to the right strode a figure familiar to many. Shorter than average, two knives on his belt, and stripped down to nothing more than a pair of pantaloons, Tinok emerged onto the sand. Flanking him were two men bearing fancy, filigreed halberds suited more for ceremony than war.

From the opposite side of the pit emerged a man easily a head taller and twice as muscled as Tinok. His head was shaved but for a shoulder-length ponytail of the darkest black. Tattoos wreathed his topknot and cascaded like a dirty river down his bare back. Dressed in naught but pantaloons just like his opponent, the man’s muscular physique was clear to all. In his hands, he held a very long, two-handed sword.

Cheers erupted throughout the onlookers, some shouting Tinok’s name, while others hollered for the newcomer. James was curious to discover that the man across the way did not participate in the enthusiastic display. His mood appeared more somber than the occasion warranted.

Another man emerged into the pit from the wall directly beneath where James and Jiron stood. Arrayed in armor with a sword at his side, the man made an imposing sight. James figured him to be one of Scar and Potbelly’s pit fighters. As he strode toward the center of the pit, conversations quieted until by the time he came to a stop, all talking had ceased.

The man looked upward to those ringing the pit. Turning clockwise, he swept the onlookers with his gaze. Coming full circle, he raised his hands.

“Welcome…to the Pit!”

Applause, shouts, and other gesticulations met his declaration. He allowed it to continue for a few moments before waving for silence.

“Tonight, we have the privilege of presenting two combatants of legendary prowess.” He turned and gestured toward Tinok. “The skill of the first is known by many. Two blades, one man, and death is his hallmark. I present to you, Tinok!”

As Tinok strode forward two steps, a roar surged from the onlookers as a hundred voices cried their adulation. Tinok was quite obviously a favorite. The sound was deafening. Raising his hands, the man in the pit subdued their exuberance. He then turned to face Tinok’s opponent.

“From charnel houses deep within the Empire, comes a man steeped in death. None who have faced him have survived. Merciless, heartless, and soulless; I give you Aknor, Warrior of the Cystak!”

From across the way, the Empire contingent of onlookers exploded in a rowdy hurrah, though less intense than what Tinok had received.

Aknor stepped forward two steps, drew his sword and emitted a guttural cry. His gaze settled upon Tinok, sword lowering until its point was directed at the smaller man standing across the pit. There was sheer malevolence in the look the two men exchanged.

James leaned closer to Jiron as he asked, “Think Tinok can take him?” Long ago, James had come to the realization that it was more than size and strength that allowed combatants to prevail.

Jiron nodded. “Of course. And with this Aknor being from the Empire, Tinok will rip him to shreds. His death will not be quick.”

The prospect of blood didn’t sit well with him and James looked out over the pit wishing he could be anywhere else. Seeing the hungry expressions of those round him, he almost expected them to begin chanting, “Two men enter, one man leaves.”

Below, the herald raised his hands again for quiet. Once the murmuring subsided to a tolerable level, the hands were lowered. He then motioned to the pair of halberd-bearers that had accompanied each combatant to depart. Each pair turned about smartly and left the pit.

After they left, the herald turned his attention to the onlookers. “No quarter shall be given. Last man standing will be the victor. Anyone interfering with the match will be dealt with harshly.”

At that, the crowd off to James’ right parted and a man stepped forward. Just under six feet in height and dressed all in black, the man strode to the railing. His head roved back and forth. When it turned James’ way, it was revealed the man wore a black metal mask that concealed everything from the nose up.

“Ti-ke-Orgatha!” he shouted while at the same time throwing his right hand outward. Above the pit, a fireball exploded in a spectacular flash of light and sound.

The crowd ooh’d and ah’d. James on the other hand recognized the man as the “Dark Mage” doppelganger Scar and Potbelly trotted out to increase the notoriety of the Pits. He was also quick to realize that what he had just witnessed held nothing magical. Not only had the tingling sensation that accompanied active magic not been present, but the air filled with the unmistakable odor of sulfur. He couldn’t help but grin. The man was definitely a fake.

Below in the Pits, the man waved the two combatants to approach. When they came within ten feet of each other, the man signaled for them to stop. A few words were then spoken in a hushed voice to the combatants.

“He’s asking who to notify in the event of their death,” Jiron explained. “It’s a mere formality, a holdover from the previous Master of the Pit. There was a time when unknown challengers would appear, but Scar and Potbelly did away with that. They want to know who it is their people face.”

James nodded. “Sensible.”

“I suppose.”

The sound of steel being drawn from scabbards silenced every voice. The herald took two steps forward and gazed up to a scantily clad beauty at the railing. Her position placed her between Tinok and Akron.

“When the ‘kerchief strikes the sand, the combat will begin.”

As he began returning to the exit beneath where James and Jiron stood, the woman held aloft a bright yellow scarf.

“She works here.” Jiron chuckled. “Scar thought beauty went well with mayhem.”

James cast his gaze to those encircling the pit. Every eye was fixed on the scarf. Below, the two combatants faced each other, their eyes locked in the beginnings of a contest of wills, each trying to break the other’s spirit by sheer force of their presence.

The ‘kerchief was let go. Billowing out, it began its slow, almost lethargic descent. As it came near the ground, the anticipation in the air was so thick, one could practically cut it with a knife.

Jiron nudged James in the side. “Tinok’s right foot,” he whispered.

Taking his eyes off the ‘kerchief, James directed it to where Tinok was slowly rotating the front portion of his foot against the ground. “What…?”

“Just watch.”

When the yellow scarf lit on the ground, Tinok exploded in a flurry of motion. His right foot kicked outward sending a spray of dirt toward his opponent. Akron easily ducked to the side and avoided a less than honorable attack that could have left him blind and defenseless. Obviously, he was not to be taken out so easily.

Despite his size and the size of his weapon, Akron moved lightning fast. The sword shot out in a double-hand slice, forcing Tinok to dance backward. The blade whisked by his chest with bare inches to spare.

A “ting” sounded as Tinok’s left knife struck the passing blade. As the blow knocked the blade two degrees downward, his right knife shot forward and left a ribbon of red across the big man’s chest.

The crowd went crazy.

“Yah!” Jiron shouted. Keeping his eyes on the match, he leaned closer to James. “Whoever scores first most always wins.”

James nodded. “The psychological effect must be devastating on such a big man.”

“You got that right.”

Breaking off, the two opponents circled each other. Akron’s face registered rage barely kept in check while Tinok remained cool and calculating.

“He’s got him.”

James glanced to Jiron in surprise. “You can tell that from only one passage of arms?”

“Not many can stand against a master knifer. Where Tinok has only the one blade to contend with, Akron has two. He may be good, but Tinok is better.”

Not quite as sure as his erstwhile companion, James worried for their friend. His heart leapt in his throat as Akron went into a complex maneuver with his blade practically singing as it cut the air.

Tinok held his knives at the ready, eyes on Akron’s. When the massive sword finally shot forward for the kill, he twisted to the side and used both blades to catch the sword. For a moment, the two fighters were locked in a struggle for possession of the sword, but then Tinok’s foot shot out and connected with the big man’s knee. The blow didn’t break the bone, but it did cause him to lose his balance and stumble. Tinok was on him in a flash. Before the man could right himself, blood flowed from four new wounds; one on either arm, and on both legs.

The crowd went crazy. Such a thing was rarely seen in the pit; where a fighter scored on all four extremities simultaneously. He that performed the feat was praised, the one it was done to was humiliated.

Screaming an inarticulate cry of pure rage, Akron rushed Tinok with a flurry of over-hand hacks and slices that forced the smaller man back several feet. But Tinok didn’t look worried. He merely bided his time.

A glance across the Pit revealed that Father Tullin had reached the side of the unmasked man from the Empire. The priest was engaged in a conversation with a tall woman wearing a swan-plumed mask; its feathers created a prominent arch above each eye.

A gasp from the crowd drew his attention back to the fight. The big man had scored a blow. Blood flowed from a horizontal slash across Tinok’s chest and the smaller man was being pushed back toward the wall.

“What happened?”

Never taking his eyes from the fight, Jiron replied, “Tinok got hit is what happened. Can’t expect to do this and not suffer injury at some point.”

“But I thought you said Tinok had this guy.”

“Just because you are the better fighter doesn’t mean your opponent won’t score a lucky blow once in a while.”

Below, Tinok’s blades deflected aside the larger man’s sword time and again. Almost having been pushed back to the wall, Tinok altered his backward progression more toward the center.

Betting was furious throughout the onlookers. Coins continuously passed hands with every strike. Those who bet on Tinok tended to win more often.

For a brief moment, the two men broke apart, each taking this opportunity to gather their strength. Tinok took an extra step back. He then turned his head until his gaze fell full upon James.

Could Tinok know that he was there? He met that gaze and felt there was some underlying message the knifer was attempting to convey. But then Akron’s blade rose and the fight resumed.

Tinok’s momentary glance hadn’t been lost on Jiron either. “What was that about?

James merely shrugged. Rubbing his forearm, he watched as Tinok deflected Akron’s blade, causing the larger man to overextend himself.

“This is it,” Jiron prophesized.

As the big man’s blade went a touch too far to the side, Tinok’s knife shot forward straight for Akron’s chest. The blade struck and the crowd erupted in cheers that quickly died off when the blade failed to inflict a killing blow. It merely left a red trail as it slid along the ribs. Akron quickly recovered and fended off a series of lightning flash blows, each deflected with an agility that was astounding.

“I can see why he has never lost,” came a comment from behind James. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw coins change hands.

Again, he found himself rubbing his arm, the skin felt irritated. A tingling sensation… Magic! This was no natural skin aberration, but the result of magic being actively manipulated.

Instantly, he brought his defensive shield into place. The events unfolding in the pit below no longer held his attention. His eyes quickly coursed over those ringing the pit. One of them was a mage.

“No!”

Tinok stumbled backward with Akron coming on fast. Inexplicably, Tinok lost his footing altogether and went down.

The tingling sensation spiked. James sent out his senses and could see the focal point of the magic was in the pit below. Someone was attempting to influence the battle’s outcome.

Akron was on Tinok in a flash. Sword raised high, he brought it down in what was certain to be a killing blow. The crowd exploded when the sword missed Tinok by a hair’s breadth and embedded itself in the sand.

Magic held the sword in the ground for a fleeting moment, just long enough for Tinok to kick the side of the big man’s head and roll to safety. James immobilized the sword just long enough for Tinok to regain his feet, then released it.

He grabbed Jiron, pulled him close and said, “Magic!”

“Who? Where?”

“Not sure. Probably one of the big man’s people.” The magic that had affected Tinok had come from there, though he was unable to ascertain the responsible party.

Both turned their gaze to those standing with the unmasked man from the Empire. Father Tullin stood next him.

“Get the priest out of there.”

Jiron nodded and hurriedly made his way through the crowd and around the pit.

Again came the tingling sensation. James immediately latched onto the magic and worked to counter it. Whatever the spell’s affect was to be, his interference easily nullified it. If the mage hadn’t yet been aware of the presence of another mage, he would now.

Casting his gaze across the pit, James saw all but one of those standing near the unmasked man and Father Tullin with gazes locked to the battle below. The one not looking had his features shielded by a hood and was instead staring in the direction of James’ doppelganger. James grinned inwardly and whispered, “Worried?”

The crowd erupted. Tinok had landed a telling blow deep within the big man’s side. Akron was stumbling backward, doubled over in pain, the tip of his sword dipping to the dirt. Without the mage’s help, he was woefully outclassed. Backpedaling quickly, the big man tried to put space in-between himself and Tinok’s hungry blades.

The mage cast another spell to try and help the fighter, but James easily thwarted it. This mage, similar to the fighter in the pit below, was way out of his league. As Tinok went in for the kill, James felt another spike in the tingling sensation. The mage was going for a kill of his own.

James didn’t even let him try. Targeting the space before the opening of the mage’s hood, he caused an orb to appear. Lasting only a fraction of a moment, it nevertheless had the desired effect of breaking the mage’s concentration and causing his spell to fail.

In the pit, Tinok had closed with Akron and had again scored deep within the big man’s side; only this time on the opposite side.

Akron screamed in pain. He tried a backhand slice, only to have Tinok catch the blade with both knives and twist it out of his hands. As the blade went flying, Tinok snapped the big man’s knee with a well placed kick, then followed through with an upward thrust that pierced the man’s lower jaw. The blade continued up through the roof of his mouth and into the brain.

All conversation ceased. The pit grew ominously silent as Akron hit the ground. Then chaos erupted as men and women cheered uproariously. Tinok raised his knives and accepted the crowd’s adulation.

Many onlookers hurled coins into the pit. The doors on either end of the pit opened and men entered. From the right came men who were obviously of Empire lineage. They lifted Akron’s dead body and carried it from the pit.

To the right, half a dozen men entered, pit fighters by the look of them, and accompanied Tinok from the fight area to accompanying cheers from the spectators. A boy emerged after Tinok had departed and began collecting the coins lying upon the blood-stained ground.

About that time, Jiron appeared at his side without Father Tullin. James glanced across the pit and saw him speaking with a man standing next to the mage. The priest’s conversation appeared calm, but three others were gesticulating wildly as they faced the man in the hood. Apparently, they were none too happy with the outcome of the match.

“He wouldn’t come,” Jiron explained. “Said he was having a good time and could take care of himself.”

“I hope so.”

“Is everything okay?”

James nodded. “It is now. They weren’t after me, just a couple of cheats trying to fix the fight in their favor.”

Grinning, Jiron said, “I bet they didn’t expect to have you here.”

“I doubt it. The mage was a rank amateur.”

The proximity of others precluded further conversation. Jiron led James from the pit and back to the main hallway. Father Tullin remained behind to continue his conversation with the man from the Empire.

Jiron’s intent was to find Tinok and see what was going on with the man they had earlier seen him walking with when James sought Tinok magically. Fate, however, had other plans.

The hallway leading to the Pit Fighter holding area was jammed with people wishing to congratulate Tinok on his victory. No less than six armored Pit Fighters stood guard before the door to keep the crowds back. The one in the lead, a six feet, four inch mass of muscles with flowing dark hair, held a pair of bared longswords and looked like he wasn’t about to put up with anyone’s nonsense.

“Let’s see him!” and other exclamations were shouted from more than one voice.

Jiron and James kept near the back.

When the press of the crowd pushed the forward fringe a bit too far, the twin blades arced over their heads and were brought together in a very loud crash. “Back!”

Quieting, the crowd’s restlessness diminished as the ones having come too close scrambled backward.

“Tinok is no longer in the Pits! He has left. Get the hell out of here or heads will roll!”

Jiron pulled James back into the main hallway and proceeded back down to one of the side passages that led to one of the regular Pits.

“I’m sure he’s still here.”

As the crowd began dispersing, James glanced to his friend. “Are you sure?”

Jiron nodded. “After the wounds he received, I’d say a priest is even now attending him.”

“I doubt if we’ll be able to get in to see him.”

“Could always use a bit of magic.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not supposed to be here, remember. I’m dead and I’d like everyone to continue believing that for as long as possible.” He saw the look that came over his friend. “Don’t even think it. If you let them know you’re here, those that attacked the island will know I’m here.”

Jiron considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Fine. We know he’s okay. Maybe Father Tullin will find out something.”

“I’m sure he will. But in the meantime, what say we head back to the temple?”

Jiron nodded and took the lead. The press of people had begun dying out by the time they returned to the main hallway. Of those from the Empire and especially the mage whose trickery James had foiled, there was no sign.

They passed from the building and entered the dimly lit streets. Oil lamps burned at the major intersections in an effort to provide some alleviation from the darkness. Light coming from building windows that bordered the street created an intermittent patchwork of light. Jiron avoided those pockets and kept to the shadows.

Thirty feet from Morcyth’s temple, two shadows emerged from the greater darkness of an alley. Each shadow held a deadly looking knife that reflected the light from a nearby window.

Jiron brought them to a halt as the two shadows moved to bar their way.

“Here now,” a man’s voice said. “Where would you two be going on such an hour?”

“Not your concern,” Jiron replied. His hand moved to the hilt of the lone knife he wore. “Move aside.”

“Uppity, aren’t you?”

The two men stepped apart, one coming forward while the other moved to a flanking position.

James held the magic at the ready. He waited to see how Jiron would play this. To his surprise, he saw the one-time Pit Fighter hold up a coin. Even in the shadows as they were, its gold color was readily discernible.

“Is that all you got?” the man who moved to flank them asked.

“It’s all I’m willing to part with. If you can provide some information that is.”

“Ha! We’ll take it all and leave it at that. We ain’t no gossiping fishwives.”

Jiron held still a moment. “I would rather talk, than kill you.”

“Hey, Mygg. This guy thinks he can kill us both.”

“I don’t think he knows who we are?” A chuckle came from the one before them, then abruptly stopped. “Now, give us your coins.”

In the darkness, James saw Jiron shrug as the gold coin disappeared back into his pouch.

“Have it your way.”

In a flurry of motion, Jiron drew his knife and stabbed the man before them, then turned on the second before the first had even hit the ground.

Squealing, the second man turned to flee, but a hand took hold of his hair, yanked him back, and a single slash across the throat sent him gurgling to the ground. It was over in a matter of seconds.

“Amateurs.”

Jiron cleaned his blade with Mygg’s coat, then stepped over the bodies and quick-timed it toward the temple. He glanced to James, fully expecting him to ask if the killing had been necessary, and was surprised when it didn’t come.

James met his gaze. “Nothing else you could have done.” He hated killing, even those such as Mygg and his partner. But in a world such as this, it couldn’t always be avoided.

Chapter Six

Once back within the temple they were met by Father Keller who led them to the room wherein Jira waited with Kip. Miko was there as well. He and Kip were hunched over a board of Bones and Daggers. Jira slept on her cot.

The High Priest of Morcyth looked up as Father Keller entered the room. Upon spying James and Jiron entering afterward, he nodded and grinned. “I think I have young Kip ‘Bleeding in the Gutter’.” Bleeding in the Gutter was a term that referred to a player who had lost all but their last Bone. It basically meant defeat was imminent.

Though unfamiliar with the game, he could see how Miko had encircled Kip’s remaining Bone with five pieces inscribed with a dagger. Kip still had two Daggers left, but the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

“Tinok was there,” Jiron announced as he took his seat in a nearby chair.

James sat on his cot and removed his boots.

“So was a mage.”

At that, Miko’s grin faded only to be replaced with a grimmer façade. He glanced from James to Jiron.

“Don’t worry,” Jiron said,” he wasn’t after us.”

“He was fixing the fight against Tinok.” Once his boots were off, James sighed with relief then lay down on his side facing the others.

“I take it you intervened?”

James nodded. “Of course. I couldn’t very well stand idly by while Tinok was slaughtered. The mage had a few good tricks, but that was it. Nothing like those we faced during the war.”

Miko was quiet a moment, then nodded. “Those with magic have been springing up here and there throughout the Empire.”

“I had heard that too,” James replied. “Ever since one of my ‘seeds’ took out their School of the Arcane, they have had less control over those wielding magic. I’m sure when the Empire was at its height, anyone that exhibited any inclination toward magic was shunted off to the School where they could be ‘indoctrinated’ with proper obedience. Now though, people are free to be mages.”

“We never had that problem here in Madoc,” Jiron said. “I can’t recall ever running into any with magical abilities other than you.” He then glanced to Miko. “And priests of course.”

“I get the feeling in Madoc, Cardri too, most folks don’t want anything to do with magic. I’m sure there have been incidents where someone has been seduced by the powerful lure of magic, but most people don’t have the proper understanding or discipline to do more than rudimentary spells. And after a mistake or two, most will recognize the danger and leave it alone.”

Miko nodded. “Just last year, a young man in a small village near Reardon killed himself and his family with a wasting malady.”

Jiron turned a surprised look his way. “I never heard that.”

“Not surprising. The locals hid the evidence and don’t talk about it.”

“How did you learn of it?” James asked.

“Brother Tye happened to be passing through at the time. He helped purge the house and made sure the effects would not spread. Needless to say, we now have a small temple there.”

James grinned. “Spreading the faith?”

“Wherever we can.”

Jiron stood and began pacing. “I wish I could have spoken with Tinok.”

“At least you know he’s okay,” James said. “Father Tullin may turn up something.”

“Perhaps.” Jiron turned to Miko. “How soon until we leave?”

“Sunup, day after tomorrow. Everything will be in readiness at that time.”

Kip reached out and moved a double-stacked Dagger to a position that threatened one of Miko’s. The stacked ones are able to move additional spaces, the number being determined by the amount of captured pieces it rests upon. When a Dagger captures an opponent’s Dagger or Bone, the captured piece is then placed beneath the captor’s Dagger, and the Dagger is then known as a Long Dagger. The default cap to the number of moves a Long Dagger can make is usually three, though players can opt for no cap at all. Such games often get rather interesting.

Miko glanced to the board. Instead of moving the endangered, Dagger, he moved a triple-stacked Long Dagger to the space next to Kip’s sole remaining Bone. “Concede?”

Staring intently at the board, Kip took in his two Daggers and Miko’s five multiple-stacked Long Daggers. Sighing, he signaled capitulation by flipping over his Bone. “Yes.”

“Good game.”

From Kip’s expression, he hardly shared that sentiment. “Yes, Reverend Father. Good game.”

Miko smiled and tousled the young novice’s hair. “Time for bed.”

Kip merely nodded as he gathered the pieces and placed them in their holding bag. Taking the bag and board, he crossed over to his cot and slid them both beneath.

Turning his attention to the pacing Jiron, Miko said, “You may as well turn in. Father Tullin often returns late after visiting the Pits.”

Jiron’s face pursed.

“Pace if you must,” James said with a yawn. “As for me, I think I’ll take the Reverend Father’s advice.”

Miko rolled his eyes. He hated to be called that, especially by those he knew before being elevated to his current station.

James merely chuckled.

“I shall send Father Vickor in to town to see if he can learn anything.”

Jiron’s expression softened somewhat. “I appreciate that.”

Nodding, Miko rose to his feet and turned to the door. “Until the morning.”

As he moved to leave, Father Keller said his goodbyes as well and followed him out.

Once the door closed, Jiron settled upon his cot and turned to face James. “It’s a good thing we were there tonight.”

James nodded. “If we hadn’t, Tinok would most likely be dead.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m surprised no one caught on to that mage’s interference before this.”

Jiron chuckled. “I doubt if he will try again in this city.”

“One never knows.”

Giving a yawn, James rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

It took a bit longer for Jiron to succumb to sleep’s embrace, his mind running through the battle over and over. There were several errors that Tinok should never had made, ones that would have brought the battle to a much faster ending. But then, Tinok was playing for the crowd. An odd thing, that. He had never done anything like that before. All he could think of was perhaps Scar or Potbelly suggested him to do such when faced with a sure win. If that was the case, he’d have to have a talk with the new Masters of the Pit should their paths ever cross again. Those antics had almost cost Tinok his life.

The room grew quiet as the grownups drifted off to sleep. Small ears lifted for the tell-tale sound of her father’s snores. Once they had continued unabated for five counts of a ten, Jira lifted her head and looked around. Upon seeing her father, uncle, and Kip fast asleep, she grinned.

It was about time! It had been a struggle to feign sleep for so long, but now she could reap the rewards.

From beneath her pillow, she took a small chunk of bread, a slice of cheese the size of her finger, and half an apple; bounties secreted away after her and Kip’s late-night snack. Also from beneath her pillow came the stub of a candle. She had snatched it when Kip replaced it earlier in the evening.

Ever so gingerly, she sat up on the edge of her cot. After double-checking to ensure the others remained asleep, she took the candle stub and hopped onto the floor.

Quiet feet raced across the coldness of the stone floor toward where the lone candle burned by the door. There she lit her stubby candle and returned to her cot. A noise from her uncle stopped her in her tracks. Fearing discovery, she quickly realized he had merely snorted.

Moving around her cot, she set the candle stub against the wall, then ever so carefully, turned her cot on its side. For a girl of her age, it was quite a feat to do quietly, but she managed. Once it rested on its side, she rewarded herself with a grin, then sat in the sheltered space betwixt the wall and the cot.

On the floor at one end of the cot, she arrayed the items of food in what she felt would be a pleasing pattern. She planned on seeing an earth spirit this night. Twice before they had taken her offerings; this time, she hoped to catch them in the act.

She placed the candle in the center of the enclosed area before taking her place at the other end of the cot. It didn’t take long before the chilly stone floor made her bottom cold. Jira remedied this by folding her blanket in half and placing it beneath her.

Time passed.

The candle burned lower and still the Little Brothers had yet to appear. Her eyes drooped, but she refused to yield to sleep’s call. Singing helped. Of course, her singing was more of a whispered remembrance of an actual song since she didn’t wish to alert any of the adults as to what she was doing. They wouldn’t understand and she was certain their presence would keep the earth spirits away.

Pausing in her song, Jira poked her head up over the edge of the cot and scanned the room. “Come on, Little Brothers. I have some goodies for you.”

Returning to her place on the blanket, she began a little nonsensical, made-up song about a frog. As she sang, she slowly rocked back and forth. It wasn’t so much a conscious act, more of an unconscious one that worked to keep her awake. Sleep grew ever more insistent, and she hoped that the Little Brothers would appear soon.

Tired of frogs, she sang of her mother. It was more spoken words with a backdrop of melody than an actual song. Her thoughts drifted along favored memories; thoughts of times with her mother, good times, created an influx of warmth and love that filled her. How she missed her mother. It would be soon, very soon, and they would be reunited again.

A tear formed and tried to make its way down her cheek, but a quick swipe with the back of her hand brought a swift end to the liquid’s mission. She was a big girl! And big girls did not cry, or so her father had said.

The barest hint of movement by the scraps of food snapped her out of her reverie. At first not sure that she had seen anything at all, she said, “It’s okay. The food is for you.”

Excitement stilled her melody as she searched for further signs that an earth spirit was present. When after several minutes of wistful waiting, a small arm emerged from behind the end of the cot and reached for the cheese, an uncontrollable burst of eagerness caused her to vocalize a small squeal. Instantly, the arm shot back and disappeared.

Fearing to have wrecked it all, she said in the most calming and soothing voice she could muster, “No. It’s okay. It’s okay Little Brother. I am your friend.”

Heartbeats passed and the arm failed to return. But it had been there! All vestiges of sleep had fled. An earth spirit had come. Now, could she get it to return?

Keeping as still as she could, gaze locked on the spot where the arm had previously appeared, Jira began to hum. Time passed, not a great deal in the grand scheme of things, but an eternity for a girl who never had much patience to begin with.

When the arm reappeared, the same excitement once more threatened to undo everything. Willing it into oblivion, she remained still and quiet as the arm stretched farther toward the bit of cheese. Just before the outstretching digits connected with the offering, the earth spirit peered around the cot.

Their eyes met and for a brief moment, Jira thought it would flee. She desperately wanted to assure it that she meant no harm, but feared any motion or sound would scare it away. Even her eyes remained motionless, locked onto those of the Little Brother as they were.

Watching its timid movements, she noticed a dark patch in the shape of a crescent moon around the outer edge of its left eye. She smiled, but quickly returned her face to normal when her facial alteration caused it to freeze. Come on, Little Brother. It’s okay.

It must have sensed no danger for it moved out from behind the cot, snatched the piece of cheese, and vanished.

Unable to quell the urge, a squeal of delight escaped her. Clapping her hands together quietly, she moved to the far end of her hidden area between the cot and wall to move a piece of fruit closer to where the earth spirit had emerged.

Returning to her position at the other end, she waited.

“Jira!”

Snapping awake, Jira discovered that she had fallen asleep on the floor behind her cot. Panic filled her and she looked up to see her father’s amused expression.

“What, was your cot too soft for you?”

She shook her head. “N…no.”

Jiron reached down and picked up his daughter. “It’s time to eat.”

Before her father carried her to the food-laden table, she snatched a quick glance toward the far end of her hidden area. The floor was bare. Every last crumb had been removed. She couldn’t help but grin.

The rest of the day proceeded in boring monotony. Jira played Bones and Daggers with Kip, Jiron paced with worry about Tinok, and James wiled away the time searching for information via his farseeing spell.

First order of business was to ensure the families were fine. Jira clapped happily when she saw her mother walking with Meliana and Kenny along the beach. Another two ladies walked with them, one of which James vaguely remembered from the one time he, Miko and Jiron had visited Corillian, possibly being a servant of Meliana’s family.

From there, he sought Tinok. He was with the man from the Empire, the same one in whose company he had been when last they sought him. They sat at a table drinking ale, the remnants of a meal upon the table. Tinok looked relaxed and the other man appeared amused.

There had yet been word from Father Tullin about what he may have learned at the Pits after James and Jiron left. Jiron was all for setting out in search of the priest, but Miko assured him that he would pass on any and all information upon Father Tullin’s return.

Father Vickor had learned little on his foray into the streets. All he discovered was that the man was a caravan guard and that the caravan was due to depart in two days. They wondered what interest Tinok could have with a caravan guard. Everything they learned created more questions with little answers in return.

Once Jiron had been satisfied, or at least realizing there was nothing else to learn by watching Tinok sit at a table and drink, James turned his attention to his island. The manor house remained quiet and undisturbed. Scanning the island turned up little that he hadn’t already learned.

Canceling the image in the hand-held mirror Miko had given him, James lay back on his cot and closed his eyes. Why can’t people leave him alone? He left The Ranch because of lack of privacy. Now his island was attacked. What was he to do, make his name so infamous, so notorious for ill deeds that no one would dare wish to disturb him again?

He could well understand how villains grew to become that way. Could it be because no one would leave them alone? That instead of live and let be, people kept at them until their only recourse was massive retaliation? Of course, such actions never brought about their desired ends. People only grew more afraid, and what people feared, they worked to destroy.

A simple life on a remote island surrounded by waters infested with pirates. Where else could he go to avoid future complications? The moon? He chuckled for he knew that the moon would be a harsh mistress indeed.

No, he wouldn’t go to the moon. He would instead find the source of the invaders. Discover who it was that prompted the invasion and deal with them. If Lord Cytok was in fact behind this, then there would be one less faction vying for Empirical dominance.

There was precious little for him to go on; the invaders wore Empire armor, arrived on an Empire ship. Except for the mage, everything pointed to the Empire. The mage was the key, of that he was certain. The men could have been mercenaries. They had to have come from somewhere.

But the mage. Now there was someone who had tremendous amounts of power at his beck and call. In his mind’s eye, he recalled the battle. Everything he tried, the mage had countered with ease. It didn’t even seem like he slowed the mage down at all. Find that mage, and he would have his answers. But how?

Miko entered in the late afternoon with Father Tullin in tow. Eyes half-lidded and downcast, the priest appeared to suffer from one dilly of a hangover.

Jiron hopped from where he sat watching his daughter’s disastrous attempt to win against Kip. The novice had a better head for the game, but she was a quick learner. Plus, Jiron made it known that trouncing his daughter unmercilessly would garner certain repercussions. “Let her win one or two,” he had said and Kip readily acquiesced.

“What did you learn?”

“Father Vickor was correct,” Miko said as he steered his priest to a chair next to James’ cot. “He is a caravan guard.”

“But how does he know Tinok?” demanded Jiron.

The priest gazed at him with bloodshot eyes. “He didn’t say. I did get the feeling that he and Tinok have known each other for some time.”

“Could be a regular at the Pits,” James suggested.

Father Tullin nodded. “That is possible. I tend to frequent the other Pits.” He glanced to Jiron. “The thirteenth can be a bit gruesome.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ayem. It was his caravan master who brought the mage and fighter against Tinok. Seems they have been raking in the coins down south and heard about our Pits. Since Madoc has very few mages around, they thought it would be easy pickings.”

Jiron glanced to James and laughed. “They thought wrong.”

Father Tullin grinned. “I’m sure the last person they expected to find there was a real mage.”

“Weren’t they fooled by the doppelganger?”

He shook his head. “At first they were worried. After all, coming from the Empire as they had, The Dark Mage is a name that can still send women swooning and leave grown men quaking in their boots. From what Ayem said, they quickly deduced the man was a fake.”

James nodded. “Any mage would be able to tell he did no magic. The man is nothing but show.”

“Exactly. In fact, most of those who frequent the Pits on a regular basis know him as what he is. It’s just part of the show.”

“Did you learn anything about the mage himself?”

“Only that those of the caravan think he’s very powerful and not one to trifle with.”

“Powerful? I think not. The man wasn’t able to keep his concentration very well and his spells lacked finesse.”

Jiron looked to his friend. “Still, a mage, even one as inexperienced as you claim this one to be, should not be so easily dismissed.”

James shook his head. “I hadn’t planned on doing any such thing. But unless he has more tricks up his sleeve, there isn’t much he can do. I will sense him if he’s close, and I’m faster.”

“I have him under watch in any event,” Miko said. When James turned a quizzical gaze upon him, he added, “The caravan, too.”

“Good. Probably nothing to worry about, but no sense taking any chances. We have less than a day before we leave.”

“All the arrangements have been made.”

Jiron turned to James. “I think we should see if Tinok will come with us.”

“I don’t know.”

“He already knows we’re here. And you have to admit, he’s pretty good in a fight.”

Miko nodded. “Do not forget, he spent a great deal of time down there before being captured. His knowledge may come in handy.”

James glanced to the High Priest. “Is that you talking, or Morcyth?”

Miko shrugged and grinned. “Sometimes it is hard to tell. Either way, Tinok has over a year of experience upon which we could draw. With everything that has happened, and what may be on the horizon, we would be fools to not take advantage of every edge we can.”

Jiron nodded. “I’m certain he would go. We are, after all, talking about an excursion into the Empire. He wouldn’t pass that up.”

“He might,” James argued. “That would leave someone behind who knows of my whereabouts.”

“He knows anyway.”

“Better to have him with us,” Miko said.

James didn’t like it. Tinok was unstable and still harbored a deep vengeance for what was done to his beloved Cassie. Dare he risk bringing along someone whose need for retribution may very well outweigh his sense of duty to friends? He knew Jiron was for it. Miko, too, by the way he had been arguing.

“Fine.” Turning to Jiron, he said, “But I leave it to you to keep him in check.”

“Not a problem.”

To Father Tullin, Miko asked, “Find him and let him know what we plan. Tell him to meet us on the road south of the city just after dawn.”

The priest gave out with a weary-filled sigh. He had hoped to crawl into bed. “As you wish.”

Miko grinned and patted him on the back. “My thanks.”

Father Tullin yawned, then quickly put hand to forehead when the gesture exacerbated his headache and left the room.

“Why not have Tinok meet us here?” Jiron asked.

“For one thing, you, James, Jira and Kip won’t be here at dawn. I plan to sneak you out tonight.” He glanced to James. “I figure if someone is keeping track of the goings-on here at the temple, then it would be best if you were not in my company when I leave.”

James merely nodded. “What do you plan?”

“Tonight, we slip you in with those coming for the evening meal. Then you make your way out of the city. Keep to the river. Father Berron will be waiting with horses near a collapsed dock.” To Jiron he asked, “You know him, do you not?”

Jiron nodded. “Rather portly fellow who’s more deadly to himself than to others with his sword?”

“That’s him. He will return to the city while the three of you head south to Inna’s Bend. Know where that is?”

“Yes,” Jiron replied. “Farther south and east of the river.”

“That is correct. We will meet you at The Wayfarer’s Tavern.” Miko glanced to Kip. “You will be coming too.”

His eyes lit up. “Me?”

Miko nodded. “If I leave you behind, everyone will know of it before the sun rises.”

A hurt look came over the young novice. “I would never violate your trust.”

Patting him on the head, Miko grinned. “I know.”

Jira appeared at her father’s side.

“We shall soon be with your mother.”

She didn’t reply, merely hugged her father and grinned at James.

Coming to his feet, Miko said, “Well, there are things that need my attention before we leave. Father Keller will come when it is time for you to intermix with the hungry.” He then gave Jira a cheerful smile before heading for the door.

Once he left, Jira squealed in delight. They were going to see her mother!

While they waited for Father Keller’s return, James went through the items brought from Earth. Those deemed not vital would be left behind in Miko’s inner sanctum, such as the books purchased at the used book store. The rest would be sneaked out on the horses carrying the supplies Miko planned to bring along. The candy and cocoa pods James would take with him. Those items were of a greater personal value since the candy was for Meliana and Kenny, and of course the cocoa seeds would introduce chocolate to this world; he hoped.

Time passed slowly as they waited for the time when the temple served the evening meal to the hungry. They offered both breakfast and dinner, though dinner was by far the more bountiful of the two.

When Father Keller finally appeared, he handed a set of boyish clothes to Jira and a ragged beggar’s outfit to Jiron. He and his daughter were familiar to many within the temple as well as those of the streets. Jiron readily donned the disguise but would not relinquish his knives. The outer garment was sufficiently voluminous to hide their presence if he was careful. James remained in regular clothes with only a floppy hat to conceal his features.

The plan was simple. Intermingle early on, then leave at the height of confusion, that time when the temple would be most packed with those seeking a hot meal. James and Jiron would each make their way alone to where Kip and Jira waited a mile or so down the road from the gate. The foursome would then make their way down the river to the broken-down dock and Father Berron.

Kip changed out of his novice attire and into a set of well-worn travel clothes, then with Jira at his side, left for the dining hall. A few minutes later, Jiron followed. James was the last to leave.

Chapter Seven

Nearly every available place at the tables in the refectory was filled. Most were obviously from the streets; their use of language’s cruder side would have given them away if nothing else. Beggars, street kids, the old and infirm, and several whole families complete with babes on the teat were intermixed throughout.

James remained just within the hallway for several moments. He saw Jiron hunched within his beggars’ clothes being regaled by a toothless crone. From the way her arms gyrated, she felt quite strongly about whatever it was she spoke of.

Jira and Kip could be seen all the way at the end. Kip sat with two temple novices, they spoke with heads held close together. James hoped this would not be a problem. One wrong word near a sharp ear could have trouble hot on their trail.

“Excuse me, good sir.”

The greeting practically caused him to jump out of his skin so unexpected was it. A temple novice stood behind him in his white robe, a serene smile fixed firmly upon the young man’s face.

“What?”

“Is this your first time here?”

Realizing he was being taken for one of the street people come for a meal, James nodded. “Is this where I go?”

The smile broadened as the novice nodded. “Come. Let us find you a place and get you a hot meal. Morcyth helps all who come to Him.”

James allowed the novice to escort him into the refectory and to a table with but a lone stool left available. The other seven were taken by a couple in their sunset years, three boys that looked to be entering puberty, a beggar missing a leg, and a young girl who couldn’t be more than six. The boys, girl and beggar flat out ignored him while the man and his wife nodded in greeting. Once seated, the novice departed promising swift arrival of the evening’s victuals.

The man with the woman openly stared at James, a frown upon his face. James met the stare for a moment before breaking contact and glancing around the refectory.

“Never seen you here before.” The man had a deep bass voice and his tone hinted at some unknown displeasure.

James glanced back at him. “No, probably not.” Glancing to the woman, he could tell she was nervous, about what remained unclear.

“Been here before?”

“A couple times.”

The woman’s nervousness faded as she worked a grin into place. “We never had much to do with temples before, but we never miss a meal. The food here is very good.”

The man flashed a disapproving glare which she pointedly ignored.

“Most places only give old bread and castoffs. These priests bake it fresh for us every day. The meat, though not in any great quantities, has yet to be gamy.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Are you a follower of Morcyth?” Now that a conversation of sorts had developed, she seemed to relax.

James shook his head. “No.” He noticed the man’s expression had taken a turn for the worse.

“Just where are you from?”

“Not here.”

That answer hadn’t set well with the man for his eyes narrowed.

“What’s your name?”

The woman laid a hand on her man’s arm. “Don’t bother the man, Jessup. Anyone can see he’s from around here.”

James glanced between the two and didn’t answer. Just then, the novice returned with a bowl filled nearly to overflowing with a thick stew. He set it and a quarter loaf of bread on the table in front of him.

“If you desire more, you have but to ask.”

“Thank you.”

“Morcyth is always willing to help.”

At the center of the table was a pitcher of water and a single mug. James took the mug and helped himself to the water. It was purer than average, containing only a few foreign particles. Miko had taken much of James’ feelings concerning sanitation and hygiene to heart.

The stew was flavorful, if heavy on vegetables with only a few pieces of beef. The bread was fresh as the woman had stated. It still held warmth deep within its center.

“Is it good?”

He glanced to the woman and nodded. “Very good.”

She smiled.

The woman was proving to be a congenial table-mate while James cared little for the scrutiny from her man that he still had to endure.

To his left sat the little girl. She leaned close to him and said, “He thinks you’re a spy.”

James about spewed the half-chewed contents of his mouth across the table as he tried to rein in the laugh that threatened to explode. Swallowing hard, he glanced to her and asked, “A spy?”

She nodded as did two of the three boys.

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.”

“And no word of who was behind it?”

“None.”

Miko glanced to Fathers Tullin, Keller and Vickor. “Then this may be a private vendetta and have nothing to do with our guests.”

“So I believe,” affirmed Brother Horka.

To Father Tullin, Miko asked, “Did you get word to Tinok?”

“Yes.”

“Does he plan to come?”

Father Tullin shrugged. “He didn’t say. But I think it likely.”

Miko sat back and grew thoughtful. “I do not like the death of these priests, something nags at the back of my mind when I mull about it. While we are gone, see if you can discover any other losses T’Lea may have suffered. If it warrants my attention, you know how to reach me.” After a moment, he added, “Check with the other temples. This may not be confined to just the Dark One’s minions.”

Father Tullin nodded.

Across the table, Miko saw Father Keller frown. “What is it, my friend?”

“I don’t know if it is such a good idea for us to leave the temple right now. Our Brothers and Novices can barely defend themselves. If something should arise in our absence…”

Miko gave him a reassuring smile. “They will be fine. Morcyth will watch over them. Besides, Father Tullin will remain here, and many of the Brothers are not without skill.”

“You got that right,” affirmed Brother Horka. “We are not a temple of weak-willed priests without a stomach for violence. Why, all but three of our Novices were raised on the streets; Brothers too. Have you forgotten last month?”

That brought grins to all. None knew how it started, but the refectory had been transformed into one massive free-for-all. Two-thirds of the Novices and half of the Brothers were involved. By the time Miko arrived with Fathers Keller and Vickor, their “priests” were bloody from head to toe, bones broken, eyes blackened, it was a mess. The scene was more appropriate to a battlefield than the refectory of a temple to a god that professed peace.

Miko chuckled. “Even still, call in our recruiters from the neighboring cities until our return.”

Father Tullin nodded. “Will do.”

“There is one more thing.”

“What?”

“While I am gone, I am leaving the care and welfare of our people to you.”

A look of surprise and a touch of fear came over him. “Me? But…Father Berron has been with you longer.”

“I need someone who will do something instead of dither should an emergency arise. I know you, you are a man that gets things done. You will take care of our people until I return.”

“As you wish.”

“It is not merely myself who wishes this.”

Father Tullin’s fear gave way to pride for there could only be one other that Miko meant.

“That will mean no more trips to the Pits.”

Glancing to Father Vickor, Father Tullin sighed. “I understand.”

In a place far removed from the City of Light, a woman lay upon a table. Her body broken and twisted, maimed beyond repair, she lay as she had for many days; strapped to a table and in the most excruciating pain.

Standing over her, a man laughed. Caressing her face, he smoothed a wayward strand of hair back into place. “Are you ready for more?” He reached a hand toward her. Before his fingertips could touch her skin, she screamed. “Yes, I think you are.”

Taking a thin, finger-length rod bearing a jagged, hooked end from off the table beside him, he brought it to the woman. “Do not fear, our fun will last for quite some time. Yes, I think before it is over, you will come to love what we do here.” Again he laughed as he showed her the instrument of torture and pain.

Her screams only made what he did all the more joyful. His master would be pleased.

Wham!

The door to the room slammed opened and the man turned to find three figures entering this most holy of places. Blackness surrounded him as he called upon the power of his god. A wave of pain and agony flowed toward the intruders. Before its power could strike, the spell met a force of greater strength. The wave of pain dissolved into nothingness.

Two were armored and bore twin longswords, the third wore plain leathers and was obviously the trio’s leader. It was he that had countered the spell. The man in leathers stepped forward. Casting a glanced at the girl upon the table, sadness came over him. Sadness quickly turned to anger as he fastened his eyes upon the woman’s captor. “Your time has come.”

The man laughed. “You have no power here.” Raising his hands, he called forth magic of the fellest kind. The darkness intensified and quickly transformed into six diminutive creatures; misshapen and twisted, each exuded pure malevolence and hate. “Take them, my pets.”

Brilliant light flared to life, its center being that of the man in leathers. Four swords left their sheathes as the two armored men moved to interpose themselves before the third. The six creatures sprang forward, but in the face of the light, their attack faltered. Withering, they fell to the blades of the armored men.

The light winked out as quickly as it had come. “You and your kind will no longer visit horror and pain upon the innocent. A time of change is on the rise.”

“Bah! Our god is supreme. Now, feel the full brunt of His wrath!”

Darkness oozed from the walls, floor and ceiling. The man in leathers held his hands before him and light shot forth as the power of one god fought with that of another. For a moment, the light was entirely cocooned by the dark. But cracks began forming in the encompassing miasma. A single shout from the man in leathers produced an explosion that rocked the room. Walls cracked, fissures broke apart the ceiling causing debris to fall, but when the haze cleared, the darkness was gone.

The woman’s captor stared with disbelief as the light reigned supreme.

“As I said, a time of change is on the rise. One in which those like you will have no place.”

Turning to flee, the man was caught by the two armored men and held at bay. Attempts to call upon the power of his god were met with failure. A nimbus of light surrounded him and he could no longer feel his god’s presence.

“For untold deeds too dark to utter, you deserve to die.”

The armored men set him against the wall and the man in leathers magically held him in place.

“Do it.”

They came to stand before the woman’s captor, each holding but a single blade. Without further direction, they plunged them into the man’s chest. The blows were precise, delivered to either side of the heart.

“We will meet again,” vowed the man.

Leathers shook his head. “No, we won’t.”

Light flared a third time. From him, powerful magic flowed into the armored men, coursed through their swords and entered the woman’s captor.

A scream tore from the man’s throat as the light ripped through his dark soul. Unable to leave as long as life remained, it withered beneath the onslaught. When at last the man’s heart beat no more, the soul sought to depart. The light would not allow it to go.

Holding it, wrapping it, destroying it, the light obliterated a soul completely devoid of any trace of goodness. When the last portion of the dark one’s soul had been eradicated, the light vanished.

Magic released the woman’s captor and he slumped to the floor. Never again would he bother another, not even in the afterlife.

Leathers went to the woman’s side and gave her a smile filled with as much love and assurance as any on this world had ever known. But her mind was gone. The time spent under her captor’s ministrations had destroyed it.

“It’s okay,” he said to her as he brought his hand toward her forehead. When it touched, pain vanished and wounds healed.

“Take her with us.”

“We should put her out of her misery,” one of the armored men said.

Leathers shook his head. “No. We will take her with us. Though her mind is gone, her spirit resides.”

“As you wish.”

Lifting her from the table, the armored man walked with the other as they followed Leathers from the room.

Chapter Eight

Looking out the window, James kept watch on the bridge. Mid-morning had come and gone without any sign of Miko. He was anxious to get going and was impatient with any delay. Far to the south, his wife and son waited. The sooner he could reunite with them and end their grief at his “passing,” the happier he would be.

Using magic to seek Miko was not an option. He no longer had the security of the temple to shield his efforts. Any attempt now would alert nearby mages. Many times back on the island he had worked on performing magic without creating the telltale tingle; but since there had been no other mage on whom he could practice, his efforts never went beyond the theoretical stage.

Jira and Kip played Bones and Daggers. Jira still had yet to win against him. Jiron watched as they played, his advice against whomping his daughter seemed to have gone unheeded. Kip had six Long Daggers of varying strengths, two Daggers, and four of his Bones. Jira retained but a single Long Dagger with two stones beneath and three of her Bones. The outcome was a foregone conclusion and Jiron was not happy. Jira on the other hand, did not seem to care. She moved one of her Bones out of harm’s way and waited eagerly for Kip’s move.

“Where could they be?”

Jiron looked up from the game and turned toward his friend. “They will arrive when they do. It takes time to get here and Miko planned not to appear rushed in his departure.”

Sighing, James glanced over his shoulder. “I know.”

Outside was a beautiful autumn day. The trees were alive with vibrant colors, the sky a deep blue with but a wisp of cloud, and the morning sun was doing its best to counter the chill in the air.

Turning back to the window, James looked out once again to the bridge and the road connecting Inna’s Bend with the main north-south trade route. A gust of wind broke a cluster of leaves free. He watched as they floated and danced in their ever-downward spiral.

Kenny loved the leaves. Last year, James had compiled a six-foot heap into which he would toss his son. Kenny giggled and laughed as the pile exploded upon impact. True, he had to reform the pile after every hurl, but the joy of watching his son cavort was worth the effort.

The noon meal came and went, Bones were taken by Daggers, and still Miko failed to appear.

“Something had to have happened.”

Jiron walked over and looked out the window. “I wouldn’t worry. What could possibly have happened? If anybody can handle themselves, it’s Miko.”

“True enough.”

Miko wasn’t what one would call a run-of-the-mill High Priest. Raised on the streets of Bearn, he had a life-view few of his peers could match. Not only backed by the power of Morcyth, but he had been aged prematurely by the god Dmon-Li’s “Fire.”

Years gone, but his youth had been exchanged for an unmatched martial prowess with the sword. With the power of the Fire, none had been able to stand against him. Now that it was hidden away, he was merely very deadly. Between sword and spell, there were few against whom he would have trouble. Coupling his own prowess with that of those with whom he traveled, it would be an unlucky brigand indeed who tried to waylay them for their coins.

Picturing the drubbing he and his priests would give a highwayman caused a grin to break out. Fathers Keller and Vickor were skilled in the faith, and according to Jiron, would hold their own very well should blows be exchanged. No, he needn’t fear for Miko and his priests.

It wasn’t until the shadows had begun to grow long that a lone rider appeared at the bridge. Expecting three with several packhorses in tow, he gave the rider scant attention. But when the rider turned toward town, he could tell despite the plain travel clothes, that it was Father Vickor.

James turned from the window. “Vickor just crossed the bridge.”

Looking up from the game of Bones and Daggers he played with Kip, Jiron asked, “Alone?”

“Yes.”

Grabbing his pack, James headed for the door.

Jiron got to his feet and gestured to the board. “Put this away and gather our things.”

“Yes, sir,” Kip replied.

He was more than happy to bring the game to a close. After his repeated drubbings of Jira, Jiron had taken him on. Five straight losses followed, the one stopped mid-game would have been his sixth. Already, Jiron had snatched three of his Bones and decimated his Daggers.

Jira moved to follow her father but was told to remain in the room with Kip. The way she stomped her foot and the set of her jaw clearly laid out how she felt about that.

Taking the steps two at a time, James slowed his pace to a more moderate level as he reached the bottom. By the time he had crossed to the main door, Father Vickor was coming to a halt outside and dismounting.

“Where are the others?”

Father Vickor looked up to see James striding toward him and Jiron appearing in the doorway a moment later. He jerked a thumb back toward the road. “They’re waiting at the junction. Miko felt it best if he and the, uh, others kept out of Inna’s Bend.”

“Others?” Jiron asked. “Is Tinok with him?”

The priest nodded. “Yes, he’s there, too.”

Something about the way he said too gave James the feeling there was more to the story. “Anyone else?”

“Uh, you better wait and see for yourself.”

“Who else did Miko bring?”

Father Vickor grew stubborn and just said they would find out when they arrived.

James glanced to Jiron and saw the confusion mirrored in his friend’s face. Turning his attention to the second-story window above, he saw Kip and Jira watching.

“Meet us at the stable.”

Kip nodded, then he and Jira disappeared inside. Very faintly, they heard Jira give a whoop.

As they accompanied Father Vickor around back, James asked again, “Come on. Who else has tagged along on our little adventure?”

“They said they wanted it to be a surprise.”

“They?” Jiron frowned as he mulled that over, then…”Not Scar and Potbelly?”

James came to a halt and turned to the priest. “Is that who’s coming with us?” The look in Father Vickor’s eye said it all.

Jiron nodded. “I could think of a worse pair to have along.”

A shift in the priest’s gaze indicated there was more to it. James stared him down until the priest sighed. “A short fellow came with them. Has a brace of knives strapped across his chest.”

Glancing to James, Jiron grinned. “Shorty.”

“Gonna be like old times.”

One-time pit fighter, Shorty was good in hand-to-hand with knives, but where his talents truly lay was in the throwing of them. James recalled the deadly accuracy Shorty had exhibited during their journeys throughout the war.

James couldn’t help but think that if any more happened to join their group, they would be in serious jeopardy of being classified as an army. Not a large one to be sure, but sizeable enough to cause worry in the locals. Maybe he could convince Scar, Potbelly, and Shorty to return home. He had no intention of fighting, merely slipping through to reunite with his family.

Jira and Kip arrived shortly after they began saddling the horses and their equipment was stowed upon the packhorse. Kip bowed to Father Vickor after entering the stable.

The priest wagged his finger at the novice. “None of that. On this trip, we put the priesthood behind us. There are those we may encounter that would look upon us in a less than favorable light. Just call me Vick.”

Kip grinned. “As you wish, Vick.”

Laughing, “Vick” slapped young Kip on the shoulder, then helped with getting the packhorse squared away. In no time, they were riding from the stable and crossing the bridge on their way to the main trade route.

A canopied tent stood just off the road to the south. Its opened air interior revealed several figures, two of which bore the unmistakable silhouettes of Scar and Potbelly. Despite James’ reservations about such a large group, he had to admit, their company wouldn’t be completely devoid of positives.

Off to the pavilion’s west stood a line of horses, six being loaded with travel goods and equipment. The odor of cooking sausage wafted upon the autumn breeze.

Scar was the first to see their arrival. He favored dual longswords while his partner Potbelly wielded a single longsword and knife. With his usual exuberance, he stalked from the tent with a wide grin upon his face. “Well, as I live and breathe. If it isn’t the infamous Dark Mage returned from the dead.”

Potbelly followed his comrade, a sizeable sausage speared upon his knife. “We thought you dead.”

Giving them a wave, James replied, “So does the rest of this world. And let’s pray they continue so for some time.”

Jiron looked for Tinok and found him within the tent, remaining next to the fire. His friend glanced his way but made neither salutation, nor acknowledgement that he had seen him.

“Miko filled us in on the plan,” Scar said.

Potbelly came to a stop beside him. “It’ll be just like old times.”

From the tent, Miko emerged looking slightly chagrined. “I didn’t think these two would be coming. But since they already knew and volunteered their services, I thought to bring them along.”

Dismounting, James looked upon the pair. The arguments he had prepared as to why they shouldn’t come remained unspoken now that he stood before them. They were true companions and friends, willing to lay down their lives for the others. How could he bring himself to demand they return?

“Fine. But no more.”

Scar jerked a thumb back toward the tent. “Shorty’s here too.”

“So Father Vickor said.”

The pair turned a frown toward the priest. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Shrugging, he said, “They guessed.”

Jiron came forward and slapped them on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you along.”

“Well, we couldn’t very well allow you to have all the fun,” Potbelly said.

“The Pits are fun, but nothing like adventure on the open road.” Turning to Potbelly, Scar added, “Remember the time when the princess of Carhali ran afoul of the Crimson Sorcerer?”

“Do I?” Potbelly replied. “We almost lost our necks on that one.” Spying Kip and Jira, he went forward to lend a hand in their dismounting. “She was guarded by a pair of the meanest…”

James cast a grin to Jiron as the pair began regaling his daughter and the young novice with yet another of their improbable exploits. “I see they haven’t changed.”

Jiron shook his head. “Doubt if they ever will.”

From the tent, Father Keller shouted. “Sausage and tubers are ready. Better eat them before they turn cold.”

Hurrying to the tent, Jiron came to his boyhood friend. “I’m glad you came.”

Tinok nodded. “Had nothing else to do, and Miko indicated my coming was important.”

“It is.” Laying a hand upon his friend’s shoulder, Jiron met a gaze difficult to read. “I am thankful.”

A small smile cracked the stony visage. “Friends don’t let friends travel dark roads alone.” The smile vanished.

Jiron wasn’t sure what to make of that, but chose to take it positively.

“Uncle Tinok!”

Jira had somehow wormed her way from the pair of storytellers, leaving Kip to being regaled alone. Spying Tinok, she leapt for the pit fighter.

Catching her with ease, Tinok smiled as he spun her about. “How are you doing, little Jira?”

“Fine. We had the most fun adventure; and I met an earth spirit.”

“An earth spirit?” Tinok glanced to Jiron for confirmation and arched eyebrows when Jiron nodded. “That must truly have been exciting.”

“It was!”

Keeping his gaze on Jiron, he said, “There must be more to the story than Miko led us to believe.”

The others had gathered around the fire and were helping themselves to the provided fare.

“Some. We’ll talk more once we’re on the road.”

Receiving a bowl with two sausages and half a dozen tubers that were marginally warm, James cleared his throat to draw the others’ attention.

“Just so everyone understands what we are planning to do, let me start by saying this will be no simple jaunt through the Empire so Jiron and I can be reunited with our families.” He eyed each in turn. “Although, that will be our main objective.

“Somewhere out there lurks the ones who sought to destroy me. If they learn that I yet live, we may find ourselves the focus of devastating power.”

“No one can take you on,” Scar stated. “You’re the Dark Mage.”

James shook his head. “The person who assaulted my island met everything I could muster and prevailed. It was only by pure luck that we three managed to escape with our lives.”

Through a mouth full of tuber, Potbelly said, “Miko claimed that once you were no longer on the island, they didn’t bother with the others remaining at the manor.”

“That is correct. Since our families yet live and are free, such would be a safe assumption. We will stop briefly to consult with Illan and get the latest intelligence from the Empire and see if he knows who may have been behind the attack.”

“I still think it’s Lord Cytok,” Jiron stated. “It is widely known that he wishes you dead.”

“There are many who wish me dead. He may very well be at the top, but he is not alone.”

“It wouldn’t be him.”

James turned toward Tinok. “What makes you say that?”

“If he had someone with power enough to take you out, he would first consolidate his rule over the Empire. Once his powerbase was secure, then he might consider risking the loss of such a force to one who took on the best the Empire had to offer and prevailed. He might wish you dead, but would never risk all on a single throw of the dice.”

Jiron looked unconvinced. “Still, I would not discount the possibility.”

Tinok merely shrugged.

Potbelly turned to James. “Are you planning on paying him a visit?”

“I’m not sure. Such a move would assuredly make any chance for continuing the belief I am dead, moot. I doubt if he would keep news of my return secret.”

“I would agree with that.” Tinok cracked a half-grin. “I’m sure that even if he had nothing to do with the attack, he knows it has taken place and that you can no longer be found. He would spread the knowledge of your return in the hopes those who attacked the first time might return to finish the job without risk to him or his forces.”

Jiron glanced to James. “Perhaps it would be best to avoid Azzac altogether.” Azzac, once the seat of the Emperor, was now the base of operations for Lord Cytok and those loyal to him.

“I hadn’t planned making a stop there in any event. The less entanglements with local forces the better.”

“You could always travel to Cardri and take ship from there to Corillian,” suggested Potbelly. “The risks would be minimal.”

James shook his head. “Such a route would prolong the time before we could reunite with our families. Besides, I do hope to be able to ferret out who was behind the attack.”

After the meal concluded, Miko, Vick, Keller, and Kip broke down the tent and secured it to one of the packhorses. They got underway and made good time down the road on their way to Hawk’s Aerie. Once a keep of the Empire, Illan had taken it over and now used it as a base of operations to keep Madoc’s southern border secure.

They made it as far as the town of Loread, some miles south of Reardon. Once an important trading city situated on the convergence of two main trade routes, Loread had been all but destroyed during the Empire’s invasion. Now it was but a modest town that was gradually recouping its former glory.

The next morning, they headed out before the sun rose and reached the hills surrounding Saragon at midday. Saragon had played no small part in the riddle of what had happened to the previous priests of Morcyth. James and Jiron had sneaked within during the enemy’s occupation and discovered a clue put in place centuries before in anticipation of James’ arrival. It had been mere chance they had come across it.

Its walls were still undergoing repairs, and the sight of them brought back memories of the courage and valor exhibited by those that gave their lives so that James and Jiron might win free. A glance to Jiron revealed that he, too, remembered.

Once past, they continued south as the road followed the river. The sun had hit the horizon when Al-Ziron, a.k.a. Hawk’s Aerie, came into view.

The keep and defensive wall dominated the landscape. At the time of James’ last visit, there had been only a small village not far from the keep’s southern wall. During the interim, it had blossomed into a sprawling town encompassing nearly three square miles.

“Illan certainly has been good for this area.”

Miko nodded. “Al-Ziron is rapidly growing into a major trade city. Merchants from Madoc, the Empire, and even a few from the Kirken Federation to the east meet here to trade.” He pointed off to a large open-air market on the western edge of the town. “Most of the trading goes on over there.”

“Black Hawk requires any Empire merchant who wishes to caravan his wares to towns within Madoc acquire a travel voucher,” offered Tinok. “Empire merchants bristle under the requirement, but bow to the necessity if they wish to widen their concerns.”

“Serves them right,” spat Scar. He had never been able to be completely rid the hatred of all things Empire after his brief stint as one of their slaves. If not for James and Jiron buying him, Potbelly, Shorty, and others, his present circumstances may not have been good.

“It is better to cultivate friendships, than hatred,” James announced. “Friends are more likely to stand by you.”

“Or turn on you when your back is turned,” Scar countered.

“Either way, such prosperity for the common man as we see here cannot be a bad thing.”

Scar had no argument for that.

The keep’s gate loomed in the distance. James took in the four guards keeping an eye on those who passed through. “Do you recognize any of them?”

Jiron shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I,” Miko added. “Could be new recruits.”

“Most likely. Let’s find an inn and then we can arrange a meeting.”

“As you wish.”

Scar and Potbelly, having been here many times to recruit fighters for the Pits, knew the area well and suggested an inn called The Desert Rose. It turned out to be a nice enough place run by an elderly couple that was clearly of Empire stock. The Desert Rose boasted two suites of rooms that would suit their purposes. James, Jiron, Jira, Kip, Miko, and Father Keller took one room, while Tinok, Scar, Potbelly, Shorty, and Father Vickor took the other. Each suite had four beds divided among two sleep areas that were attached to common rooms, which was where Kip and Jira bedded down.

While the others took their meal in the common area of James’ suite, the Masters of the Pits, along with Shorty and Father Vickor, adjourned to the inn’s common room for dinner.

Jira wanted to accompany them as the tunings of a bard wafted up from below.

“Not this time,” her father stated. “You can hear it well enough from here.”

“Besides,” chimed in Kip, “who am I going to beat at Bones and Daggers.”

She hardly looked mollified.

“In the morning, we’ll see about contacting Illan,” James announced. “He should be able to give us an accurate idea of what we’ll be heading into.”

“I can tell you that,” Tinok announced. “Raids between the Warlords as each seeks to bring more territory under their control. I’ve heard entire villages have been massacred.”

Jiron glanced to him. “Would it have been your friend from the caravan who told you that?”

Tinok returned a half smile. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“How is it that you have a friend with the skin of one from the Empire?”

“I just do and let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

The two friends locked gazes for a moment. Jiron could see there was much more to the story but knew that to press Tinok to divulge more would do little good.

James cleared his throat and drew Tinok’s gaze to him. “What else can you tell us about what we may encounter?”

“Not much more than what you already know. Bandits are rife, although most are agents for the Warlords. They waylay travelers and raid caravans that do not bear the sign of their Warlord. I understand most of what they take is used to further their Warlord’s cause. Some caravans have taken to carry signs of all Warlords, exchanging one for another depending on where they happen to be.”

“Does that work?”

“So I understand.”

Jiron turned to James. “Perhaps we could get hold of some?”

Tinok shook his head. “That won’t work. First, you would need to have a caravan for them to work, and second, the flags are only allowed for those of the Empire. Any outsider caravan bearing a flag is fair game. Some have tried much to their sorrow, or so I hear.”

“Do you have any idea how many bandits usually ride together.”

“Not really. One band had fifteen.”

Jiron nodded. “We could handle that many.”

Frowning, James said, “I’d rather not.”

“It would be foolish to believe we will remain unmolested as we travel through,” Tinok said.

James sighed. “I realize that.” He could hope, though.

Down in the common room, the others were having a grand time. The bard proved to be exceptionally good and the inn’s patrons were in high spirits. Two soldiers from the local garrison wandered in and sat at an adjacent table. Both were of northern stock. The one with dark hair glanced toward Scar.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

Scar gazed closely at the man. “Possibly, though you don’t look familiar.”

“Name’s Brody.” Slapping his taller, fair-haired companion, he said, “And this here’s Calen.”

“Nope. Don’t sound familiar.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re that guy from up north who comes down here and tries to get us to leave the service and come fight for you in the Pots.”

“Right you are, though it’s called the Pits, not Pots.”

Brody waved away the correction and laughed. “Last time you were here, we lost four good people.”

Scar merely shrugged.

“If our captain knew you were back…”

Scar glanced to Calen. “Well then, let’s not tell him.”

Learning forward to join the conversation, Potbelly said, “Black Hawk might not take kindly if one of his men went on a personal vendetta.”

“First off, Captain Lawrence doesn’t answer to Black Hawk,” explained Brody. “Second, he’s not even at the keep. By the time he returned and learned of what happened, it would no longer matter.”

“I doubt that,” Scar replied.

Brody shrugged. “Any how, what he doesn’t know won’t bother us.” Raising his mug, he grinned and said, “To a night of debauchery. May both the wine and women flow freely.”

Scar and Potbelly laughed and clanked their mugs to his. “Here, here.”

Shorty watched as the three men drank deep. Once Brody came up for air, he asked, “Did I hear you correctly in that Black Hawk is not at the keep?”

Calen nodded. “That’s right.” He glanced to Brody, “Off to Tinker, right?”

“That’s what I heard,” affirmed his partner.

“Is that a town?”

Brody nodded. “Half a day’s ride to the west in Briddlestone Hills.”

“Wonder what he’s doing there?” Shorty exchanged concerned glances with Father Vickor.

“Who knows? He left late yesterday.”

The priest set his mug on the table. “Has there been trouble recently?”

Brody paused with mug to lips as he contemplated the query. “Now that you mention it, I believe there was some scuttlebutt going around the barracks about trouble to the west.” He glanced to Calen and received an affirming nod. “Could be he took some men to investigate.”

Trouble? “And you have no idea what the trouble was?”

Calen shrugged. “Most likely bandits. They spring up from time to time. I doubt if it would be one of the Warlords causing mischief. They have enough problems with each other to worry about sending raiders this far north.”

Applause erupted throughout the common room as the bard brought his song to a close. Joining in with the others, Father Vickor’s thoughts were hardly on the bard and his music. Once the adulation died, he stretched, faked a yawn, then rose to his feet.

“I think I’m to bed, gentlemen.”

“So early?” asked Scar.

He gave the Master of the Pit a grin. “My day began early, and I think it may yet again tomorrow.”

Tinok stood, “That sounds good, Fa…, uh, Vick. I think I’ll join you.”

When Shorty stood and stated that he too would call it a night, Potbelly grunted, mumbled something incoherently. He and Scar would be staying a bit longer. “At least until my mug runs dry.”

Shorty guffawed. “Your mug won’t ever run dry.”

“Then I’ll never leave.

Father Vickor rolled his eyes, and with Tinok and Shorty accompanying him, headed for the stairs. They remained silent as they ascended to the second floor. At the landing they turned into the hallway where Tinok brought them to a quick halt. Farther down, a man stood with ear pressed to the door of James’ room.

Tinok turned to Shorty.

Shorty nodded and removed one of his throwing daggers.

“Don’t kill him,” whispered Father Vickor. “We need to know who he is and what he may have heard.”

Motioning for the other two to move aside and allow him room for throwing, he drew back the knife. Just before he threw, Father Vickor’s foot pressed upon a creaky board. Although it could barely be heard, it drew the attention of the man at the door. The knife flew from Shorty’s hand.

At the same instant, the man took a step backward.

Thunk!

The knife missed the eavesdropper by a hair’s breathed and embedded itself in the wooden jamb of the door.

“Get him!” Tinok cried as he leapt forward and brandished his knife.

Turning about, the man fled down the hallway. A cry of pain tore from his throat when one of Shorty’s knives sank into the meaty part of his left calf. Hitting the ground, the man quickly righted himself and raced with a limping gait toward the window at the end.

Another knife struck him in the back as he reached the window. Knocked forward from the impact, the man stumbled right into the window; glass shattered. Knees striking the window pane, the man did a somersault through the window and fell to the ground below.

“Father!” cried Tinok.

Even before the word was uttered, Father Vickor was halfway back down the steps in an attempt to save the life of the eavesdropper. Shooting through the common room to a mass of surprised and slightly annoyed looks, the priest entered the kitchen area and flew through the back door.

By the time he made it outside, several people had gathered around the man. “Back!” Shoving people aside, he reached the injured man’s side. But he was too late, the man’s neck had broken upon impact.

“Murder!” came the cry. “A man has been murdered!”

Chapter Nine

At the window overlooking the scene below, Tinok turned back to where Jiron, James and the rest were emerging from the room.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Shorty asserted. “It just happened.”

“Thought you were better with your knives than that.” Jiron’s words struck the knife-thrower to the bone.

“He’s dead,” Tinok said.

The cry of “murder” came from below.

Moving to the window, James saw Father Vickor standing among an ever growing sea of onlookers.

“We better get out of here.” He glanced to Jiron who nodded.

“Take Jira and Kip and go,” Miko said, then glanced to Scar and Potbelly. “You two better make yourselves scarce as well.”

Scar looked offended. “But we didn’t do anything.”

“Did you not?”

Tinok stepped quickly away from the window when someone below glanced up. “It won’t be long before they’ll be up here.” His time spent running wild in the Empire sowing death and havoc all said this situation could degenerate quickly.

“Illan will protect us,” Potbelly stated, then looked to James. “He wouldn’t dare do anything to the Hero of Madoc.”

Tinok shook his head. “Illan departed a couple days ago. Not sure when he’ll be back. In any event, the fact that the Dark Mage lives will soon become common knowledge if we remain.”

From the stairwell came the sound of many feet hurrying up the steps.

Miko pointed to the room. “Everyone inside and away from the window, I will deal with them.” Laying his hand on Kip’s shoulder, he said, “Go with them.”

Jiron motioned for Tinok to enter the room, but the knifer shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

Pausing but a moment, Jiron nodded, took Jira’s hand and rushed into the room; James followed, then Kip. Scar and Potbelly, with Shorty in tow, passed into the room just as the first local cleared the landing.

Miko moved to put several feet between the room’s door and his back before coming to a stop. Father Keller stood on his left and Tinok on his right.

“There they are!”

Father Vickor appeared on the landing and elbowed several out of the way as he forged his way to the head of the pack.

Miko, looking the innocent, asked, “Good gracious, is something the matter?”

“Yes!” hollered the lead man as he pointed toward the end of the hallway. “A man was killed and his body tossed through yonder window.” His demeanor indicated his belief in Miko’s culpability.

Stepping forward, Father Vickor came to a stop before Miko and bowed deeply. In a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in attendance, he said, “Reverend Father, a man has been slain, tossed from this very hallway. I was nearby and did my best to save his life, but his spirit had already fled.”

Miko took on a look of profound sadness as he gazed upon his priest. In the crowd behind Father Vickor, a few gasped and he heard the name “Morcyth” passing from one to another. He had been recognized.

Not only were Miko’s priests active in this area, spreading the word, but Morcyth played a prominent part in many a tale concerning the Madoc-Empire war.

The lead man’s anger and suspicion vanished. “Pray forgive us, Reverend Father, but did you see anyone in the hallway when you emerged from your room?”

“There were a couple men, but they quickly departed.” He glanced to Father Keller who nodded.

“They didn’t go down the stair,” a lady shouted.

“They must still be in one of the rooms,” another hollered.

At that, the crowd dissolved as everyone immediately began flinging open doors. If one proved to be locked, they kicked it in. A few screams from those occupying the rooms went unheeded as the search progressed.

When two men with drawn swords entered the room in which James and the others had fled, Miko waited for the cry. But they quickly emerged and moved to the next door.

Father Vickor came to stand next to Miko. “Shall we adjourn to our room, Reverend Father?”

Miko nodded.

Once they were within and the door closed, the lock was thrown and he crossed to the opened window. Tinok came to stand behind him. A man lay on the ground, looking to have been knocked cold. “They made it.”

Tinok nodded. “So it would seem. We should make our way from this place.”

“I agree,” said Father Vickor. “The Dark Mage cannot afford to be found. Not yet at any rate.”

“Yes. Go to the stable and ready the horses.” To Father Keller he said, “Gather everything from the rooms. We shall leave within the hour.”

Before doing as bid, Father Keller asked, “Will they be able to find us?”

Miko grinned. “I have no doubts. We shall head south at a leisurely pace and make camp along the road. I expect James will be along directly.”

Out in the hallway, the sound of running feet gradually faded once the searchers realized the killers must have fled. They now concentrated their search to the streets outside.

Five blocks from the scene of the murder, in what had once been a tavern but was now a burned-out shell of its former glory, the fugitives waited. Kip had been sent back to the inn to discover what Miko planned to do. Until his return, they would keep out of sight.

“Well, this is a great start.”

Jiron turned to find James glaring at Scar, Potbelly, and Shorty. The Masters of the Pit hardly looked remorseful. Shorty on the other hand had eyes downcast.

“I didn’t mean for him to crash through the window.”

“Of course not! Who would have thought having a flight of knives hurled toward someone could possibly result in their death?” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

Mad was a mild description of the way James felt. They had barely left the City of Light, and a person had already been killed. More than likely the entire city guard was combing the streets for them.

“Won’t Uncle Black Hawk help us?”

James gazed into the young eyes of Jira and shook his head. “Not this time.”

“He’s not in town,” Scar explained. “Went somewhere to the west.” When James glanced to him, he added, “Or so one of the City Guard thought.”

“I’d still like to talk to him before heading into the Empire.”

Crossing through charred rubble to a window facing in the general direction of the inn, Jiron said, “First, we need to get out of here without being seen.”

“Better wait for the commotion to die down,” Potbelly suggested. “We’ll stand less of a chance of being recognized.”

Scar snickered. “You always knew how to point out the obvious.”

Shooting his partner a look that vowed future reckoning, Potbelly kept quiet.

Jiron cast his gaze out the window and saw Kip enter an area illuminated by a corner lamppost. He made his way through the diminishing crowds bustling along the street. The lad had the good sense to walk at a steady, unhurried pace.

“Kip’s back.”

The others came to the window just as the young novice turned the corner and passed from view.

Jira tugged at her father’s sleeve. “Where’s he going?”

“Coming around the back if he’s smart.” Jiron glanced to James. “The boy has a good head on his shoulders.”

The Dark Mage nodded.

It wasn’t long before the sound of movement in the back of the tavern heralded Kip’s return. The boy gave them a grin as he cleared a fallen beam and joined them. He came to stand before James.

“The Reverend Father is leaving.”

“Leaving?” queried Jiron.

The novice nodded. “I saw Fa…uh…Vick in the stable. They plan to head south.”

“Did he say where we should meet them?”

He shook his head. “Just that they were heading south and planned to make camp an hour or so down the road.”

“How about the search for us?”

Turning to Jiron, Kip said, “There isn’t going to be one.”

“What?” James exclaimed in surprise.

“A guard said the dead man was a local they knew all too well; a thief and murderer that had caused them no end of trouble. Once his identity became known, the search was called off. They aren’t going to waste much time in finding his killer.”

Jiron flashed James a grin. “That is good news.”

Not looking convinced, James replied, “Still, we should wait a bit before making our way from the city.”

Scar nodded. “That would be prudent.”

“Until then,” Jiron said as his gaze quickly moved to encompass the others, “we stay put and keep quiet.” Coming to rest on Scar and Potbelly, he held their eyes until both nodded.

Being quiet was never easy, especially for a lad embarking upon what he perceived to be a grand adventure. Kip was filled with barely contained excitement. Unable to sit still as they waited for the sun to go down, he would fidget until subdued by another’s reprimand, usually Jiron.

Jira had an equally difficult time. Their Bones and Daggers game had been left behind in their abrupt departure from the inn. They tried creating one from the rubble, but the noise produced by Kip’s attempt at forming appropriate sized pieces from the debris scattered across the floor brought Jiron’s wrath upon him and he quickly gave up.

Jiron manned the window. His ire spiked with every noise the others made. After his third chastisement of Kip, he threatened to bind and gag the lad if he wouldn’t be quiet. When he had been Kip’s age, he could have remained motionless and silent for hours on end should the situation warrant.

Outside grew quieter by the minute. Most respectable people had already returned home from their evening entertainments. A few couples walked the streets interspersed with the odd carriage or lone watchman making his rounds.

“I think it’s safe now.”

James joined him at the window and looked out on the quiet street. Glancing to his friend, he nodded. “Let’s go.”

Two groups emerged onto the darkened street. Two men, a girl and a lad nearing manhood comprised the first group. The second followed a few minutes later.

They kept calm and proceeded at a pace just north of leisurely. As always in situations such as this, Jiron took charge and maneuvered them through the back alleys of Al-Ziron. Guards wearing the uniform of the City Watch appeared periodically; Jiron altered direction as needed.

Minutes passed as they drew ever nearer to the outlying buildings. Pausing momentarily in the lee of a building that exuded the unpleasant stench commonly associated with a knacker, they waited for two guards to pass

James’ stomach grew sour from the malodorous aroma that permeated the area. He cast the building a look of pure disgust. Once informed about what transpired within walls such as these, he made a vow to never again eat sausage except what they made themselves. Many a dead or dying horse had been dragged within only to later find themselves served as sausage at less-than-fine eateries. It wasn’t so much the horse meat, but the “other” items commonly added that turned his stomach. Jiron’s claim that they threw rats, alive and kicking into the grinder was what had done it for him.

Speaking in low tones the two guards passed, oblivious to those that hid in the darkness nearby. Once they moved farther down the street, Jiron signaled for the others to follow. He took a step and was about to cross the mouth of an alley when from several blocks behind them, a shout broke the night.

“Guards! Guards, to me!”

Jiron came to a halt and glanced toward the cry. “Damn!”

“Scar and the others do you think?” James asked.

“Has to be.”

One of the Town Watch dashed around the corner nearby and raced with all speed back into town.

A small hand gripped Jiron’s arm. “We have to do something, Father.”

Jiron glanced down to his daughter, then cast a questioning glance to James.

Meeting his friend’s gaze for a moment only, James turned to Kip. “Find out what’s going on. Meet us half a mile down the road.”

The young novice nodded. After a quick look to ensure no one would witness his emergence onto the street, he left the shadows.

“Come on,” Jiron urged. “It won’t do to get caught up in this.”

James barely heard as he stared back into the city. Shouts for guards and cries for someone to stop continued unabated. Then, the night grew quiet. “They got them.”

After several seconds of quiet, Jiron nodded. “So it would seem.”

James pulled his gaze from the city and turned one filled with worry upon Jiron. “I hope Scar and the others had the good sense not to kill anyone.”

A fountain sat at an intersection of two main thoroughfares. Water poured from the mouth of a rearing horse to crash into the pool below as its rider held aloft a mighty spear. Everything from the horse’s fore-shoulders down was obscured from Kip’s view by the press of people filling the intersection. Whatever was happening, transpired at the fountain’s base.

The novice tried elbowing his way to the fore, but his efforts proved fruitless and he was forced to remain at the rear.

“We haven’t done anything!” Scar’s shout penetrated the murmur of the crowd.

Whatever reply may have been given, it failed to reach Kip’s ears. The novice feared for their friends. He tried a second time to forge his way through the crowd. Able to get a third of the way in, his forward progress was abruptly curtailed when those in front began moving backward.

“Back I say!” cried an authority-filled voice.

The crowd parted along the street heading back into town. Guards, over a score strong, escorted four men at sword point. Scar, Potbelly, Tinok, and Shorty had been divested of their weapons. With gentle, and at times not so gentle prodding, the guards ushered their prisoners along. Tinok’s anger looked barely kept in check.

Unable to push forward through the crowd from where he stood deep within the pack, Kip immediately turned about and made his way through the less packed throng at the rear. Once out, he quickly skirted the crowd, raced down an alley running parallel to the street upon which the guards marched, and hurried to get ahead of the procession.

It took him two blocks before he managed to get in front of the guards. Standing before a candle maker’s shop, he dithered about what to do.

Scar glanced his way, met his gaze, and nodded his head once in acknowledgement. When Kip made to speak, Scar shook his head then turned to the guard leading the procession.

“Where are you sons of dogs taking us?”

The lead guard glanced back over his shoulder. “Shut up back there!”

“Are you taking us to stand before Black Hawk?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, you’re going to the see the Watch Commander. He’s been interested in speaking with you for some time.” He then nodded to one of the guards at the rear who proceeded to strike Scar across the back of the head with the flat of his blade.

When Scar’s vision cleared from the blow, he again met Kip’s gaze. Kip now knew where they were being taken.

The novice waited until the procession had passed before heading with all speed back to where James and the others waited.

“The Watch Commander, huh?” James was not happy about this turn of events.

Kip nodded. “That’s what they said.”

Jiron glanced to his friend. “That means they’re at the City Jail, not the Keep.”

“Trying to avoid letting Black Hawk and his men know what’s going on you think?”

“Sounds that way.”

James turned a careworn look upon the young novice. “Was anyone hurt?”

Shaking his head, Kip replied, “I don’t think so.”

“Good.” To Jiron he said, “I’m surprised Tinok let them take him so easily.”

Jiron replied, “I’m not.” When James cast him a questioning look, he added, “If he gets into it with the guards here in Al-Ziron, he’ll never get the chance to kill more soldiers of the Empire.” Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he looked down into his daughter’s worried eyes.

“What are we to do, Father?”

James glanced to Jiron. “Can’t use magic. It would give me away to any mage in the area.”

“And neither of us can be seen.”

The gates of the Keep loomed before him. This late at night, there were but two guards on duty. Despite the fact that the pair idled away the time in quiet conversation, the chance of sneaking past was nil. One was of average height and carried a pole-arm. The other was slightly taller and wore a sword strapped around his ample girth.

Kip watched the pair from the shadowy front of a weapon’s smith. The Dark Mage had instructed him to approach the Keep, reveal that he was a novice of Morcyth on business of the High Priest, and ask to be taken to Ceadric.

Unsure exactly who this Ceadric might be, Kip knew the others depended on him. But guards such as what barred the Keep’s entrance had made his early years a misery. Fear, not felt since coming to the temple, unexpectedly resurfaced.

I can do this.

There was no one else. Squaring his shoulders, the young novice strode from the shadows and marched resolutely toward the Keep’s main gate. The two guards soon became aware of his approach.

As he drew close, the taller guard nudged the one with the pole-arm. “Look what’s coming to pay a call on the Lord Black Hawk.”

“Maybe he thinks he’ll be taken on as a Page,” quipped Pole-arm. Holding up his hand, he stepped forward to bar Kip’s way. “Boy, just turn around. You got no business here tonight.”

“I’m here with a message for Lord Black Hawk.” Voice cracking, words uttered in a tremulous tone, his fear was evident.

“A message you say?” Tall Guard asked.

Kip nodded. “I am a Novice of Morcyth and have come with word from the High Priest.”

Laughter split the night. Tall Guard glanced to Pole-arm. “I ain’t heard that one before.”

Pole-arm nodded. “What about the girl claiming to be his long-lost daughter?”

“Oh, aye!” he laughed. “Forgot about that one.”

The guards’ merriment unnerved Kip even more. This was not going well. What he really wanted to do was slink away, but knew others counted on him. Swallowing hard, he said, “I am of the temple, and I do have a message for Black Hawk.”

Pole-arm’s humor died quickly as his face turned serious. “That’s Lord Black Hawk to the likes of you, boy.”

“May I be admitted to see Lord Black Hawk?”

“It’s night, boy. Everyone’s asleep,” stated Tall Guard.

“And besides,” added Pole-arm, “Lord Black Hawk isn’t even in the Keep.”

Why should I ask for Lord Black hawk if he isn’t in the Keep?

Jiron had explained that if he went there looking for Ceadric, they’d turn him away for sure. But if he asked for Black Hawk first, then dropped Ceadric’s name, it might give the guards pause. Someone of Kip’s age, trying to put one over on them, would be unlikely to do so.

I hope this works.

“If Lord Black Hawk is not within, I was told to deliver my message to Ceadric.”

The guards sobered. Pole-arm eyed him. “Ceadric, you say?”

Kip nodded. “That is what I was told.” He watched them exchange uncertain glances.

Maintain your composure. Act like you belong there and they will let you through. Give them any reason to doubt your story, and it’s over.

Jiron’s words gave him scant comfort as he withered beneath their gaze.

“What is the message?”

Fear and anxiety melted away at the question. They were going to take him seriously. Just don’t blow it!

“I am not allowed to give it to anyone but Lord Black Hawk, or his right-hand man, Ceadric.”

The guards eyed each other. “Get a Page.”

Pole-arm nodded and ducked into the Keep.

“This better not be some trick, boy, or you’ll rot in the dungeon for sure.”

Kip shook his head and remained silent. Jiron had advised him to say only what he must to get in and not indulge in idle banter.

They had given him a description of Ceadric; tall, a touch on the other side of middle age, and a countenance hardened through numerous battles in service to Lord Black Hawk.

Half a dozen people had passed through the gate by the time Pole-arm returned, each giving Kip a passing, inquisitive glance where he stood with back against the wall near the guard. Behind Pole-arm walked a lad of thirteen summers dressed in the accouterments of a page in service to Black Hawk. Emblazoned upon the page’s tabard was an insignia that brought pride to those of Madoc, and instilled fear in men of the Empire: A black bird of prey in flight poised to strike, upon a red heraldic field. Behind the hawk were two crossed swords.

Coming to a stop, Pole-arm indicated the boy. “Follow him and do not stray.”

The Page gave Kip a slight nod, gestured for the novice to come along, then turned and headed back into the Keep.

Kip hurried after and fell in step a pace to the lad’s right. He took in the mammoth wall of the inner courtyard and the men walking post along the ramparts. It looked rather formidable.

“Been a Page long?”

The lad glanced to Kip, pursed his lips slightly as if speaking to him was either against the rules, or unwelcomed, then shook his head.

Another pair of guards stood watch at the door leading into the main body of the Keep. They gave the Page a nod that was returned in kind. Kip followed the lad through the doors.

“So,” began Kip, “where is Ceadric?”

“Ceadric is unavailable,” the Page said.

“What? I thought I was to see Ceadric.”

The Page shook his head. “Ceadric is in a meeting and will be unavailable for many hours.”

“But what I have to tell him is important.”

“I am sorry, truly. He left orders that his, uh, meeting should only be interrupted due to the gravest of emergencies.” The Page turned down a side hall.

Kip mulled over what he should do. The Dark Mage had indicated time was quickly running out for their friends. Dire things may be happening to them even now. Did they even have an hour?

“You are to see Captain Yeurlin. He has the Night Watch. Captain Yeurlin has full authority to accommodate whatever it is that his lordship, the High Priest, may require.”

I doubt that…

Passing into a narrow stairwell, the Page led him up to the next level. They emerged onto a hallway and turned to the right. The Page indicated a door at the end. “The Captain will meet you in there.”

Should he trust the Captain? Jiron had said trust no one with his message but Lord Black Hawk and Ceadric. If he passed through those doors and failed to deliver the message, summary expulsion from the Keep would follow.

He had to do something, but what? If he ran, the Page would sound the alarm. If he didn’t, he would be removed from the Keep and his mission would fail. Ceadric had to get the message.

Morcyth, help me!

The page continued leading him toward the door.

A side door on their left opened and a servant emerged carrying a tray of dishes that looked to contain the remnants of someone’s dinner. Sitting slightly apart from the others was a small ceramic bowl.

Time spent on the streets had honed his adaptive abilities well. As the servant passed, he snagged the bowl from off the tray. He waited until they were before the Captain’s door, then struck the Page on the back of the head with the bowl. So sturdy was the bowl’s construction that it hadn’t even cracked.

As the Page crumbled, Kip caught the lad and glanced back over his shoulder. The servant was nowhere to be seen. He quickly dragged the Page back to a door some distance removed from the Captain’s. After pressing his ear against the wooden frame and hearing nothing, he opened the door.

A bed, nightstand, and the way several of the chairs were covered in cloth indicated that this was a little-used guest room of some sort. Once the unconscious body of the Page had been dragged in, Kip closed the door and proceeded to don the Page’s tabard and breeches. Once he was dressed in the trappings of a Page in service to Black Hawk, Kip bound the lad’s hands and legs with strips torn from one of the cloths draped across the furniture. After a gag had been stuffed in the lad’s mouth and secured with a small strip of cloth, Kip returned to the door and cracked it open. Finding the hallway beyond deserted, he prayed a quick prayer to Morcyth, then quietly slipped from the room

Chapter Ten

Not long after leaving the room, Kip encountered five men dressed as soldiers of Black Hawk. Keeping head high, he walked past with purpose and they gave him little more than a passing glance.

Attitude, young Kip. It’s all in the attitude.

Jiron had been so right. Act like you belong and few would question your right to be there, especially if you wore a Page’s tabard. Kip couldn’t help but grin. Now, to find Ceadric before someone noticed that one of their Pages had gone missing.

The Page had indicated Ceadric was in a meeting. Kip hadn’t the slightest idea where that might be. The Keep was rather large and to search it room by room would take far too long. But how does one find out without arousing suspicion?

Coming to another hallway, he paused and glanced to the right, left, and ahead. They all looked alike. He stood in a quandary for several seconds before voices coming from the right prompted him to scurry across and continue down the one he had been following.

Not far past the intersections of passageways, Kip came to an open doorway; light and the aroma of roasted meat came from within. It was a large room filled with many tables. Some were occupied by groups consisting of both soldiers and civilians enjoying their evening meal. He quickly continued on.

Beyond the dining hall, he crossed before another door, this time a voice hollered out, “Oh, boy!”

Discovered!

His tongue went dry from sudden fear. Turning toward the voice, he saw a man in a stained apron.

“Are you on business of the Keep?”

Unsure how to reply, Kip kept quiet and merely nodded.

The cook grimaced. “Damn! I need to get this tray to the Kirken Ambassador.” The tray in question lay upon a small table and was laden with meat, bread and a bottle of wine, enough to feed three men. “All my lads are off on other errands at the moment.” Shaking his head, he mumbled something about nobles and how they wanted everything right away.

The cook cast Kip a calculating look. “It seems the last batch of sweet rolls was a little large.” Cocking an eyebrow, he said, “May have to just…throw these extras away.”

His eyes moved from Kip and settled onto a plate whereupon laid three of the most mouthwatering sweet rolls the young novice had ever seen. The glaze practically shimmered in the light.

Kip knew a bribe when he saw one. Aside from the fact that taking the tray to wherever the Kirken Ambassador happened to be would provide him an excuse to roam the halls, he was hungry.

“Rolls first?”

The cook nodded. “Make it fast. The Kirken Ambassador is not one to be kept waiting.”

Stepping into the kitchen, Kip snatched up the rolls and popped one into his mouth. Crisp and sticky on the outside yet light and fluffy on the inside, it was perfect. The High Priest would find little fault with these.

Number two and three followed in quick succession. The cook offered him a wet rag to clean his fingers then handed him the tray.

“You will find the Ambassador in the Amber Suite.”

Before he could hold the words in, Kip asked, “Amber Suite?”

The cook frowned. “Don’t you know where the Amber Suite is located?”

Kip thought hard. “Uh, not really.” Excuses and alibis came easily to one who had been raised on the streets. “I have only been here a few days.”

“Humph. You’d think a Page would know where everything is.”

Ducking his head in feigned embarrassment, Kip replied in a cowed voice, “I am learning.”

The cook eyed the emblem on his chest, turned a thoughtful look upon Kip, then shrugged. “Come with me.”

Stepping from the kitchen, the cook entered the hallway and pointed in the direction Kip had been traveling. “Take the first stairs on the right. Follow them to the second landing. Turn right into the hallway and count five doors on your right. When you get to the sixth, you will be at the Amber Suite.”

Kip bobbed his head in a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Making a shooing motion with his hands, the cook said, “Now hurry.”

The directions were easy to follow. Along the way, he encountered other denizens of the Keep. Each time, he thought for sure his masquerade would be uncovered. But other than a cursory glance at the contents arrayed upon the tray, they paid him little heed.

Once at the second landing, he turned to the right and began counting doors. The fourth on his right opened just as he was passing the third and a comely maid perhaps a little older than himself emerged bearing a stack of folded linen. Upon spying Kip, she broke into a smile.

“Hi.”

Kip dipped his head in a brief bow. “Good evening to you, miss.”

“My, aren’t we formal.” Her lilting tone and congenial attitude quickly put him at ease.

He gave her his most charming smile. “Always treat the ladies with respect. That’s what my ol’ Granther used to say.”

Eyes dancing in amusement, she replied, “Wise man.”

“I always thought so.”

She eyed the tray. “Where are you taking that?”

He nodded to a distant point down the hallway. “To the Kirken Ambassador.”

Her face transitioned from gay to solemn in a flash. “I’ll be glad when he’s gone.”

“Bad?”

“He can be. Just get in, drop off the tray, and get out as quickly as you can.”

“I’ll do that, thank you.”

Her smile returned. “You’re welcome, uh…”

“Kip.”

“Kip?” She mulled over his name for a moment. “Haven’t heard of a Page called Kip before.”

“I’m new.”

“You must be. I’m Sara.”

“It was good to meet you, Sara. But I must be going.”

Nodding, she replied, “Yes. Maybe I will see you around later?”

Kip shrugged. “Never know.”

As he turned to continue to deliver the food, he paused. “You wouldn’t know where I could find Ceadric, would you? I was supposed to deliver a message to him but the cook sidetracked me.”

Her laughter filled the hallway. “He does that to me, too. I think Ceadric is in his chambers.” Seeing his blank look, she pointed to the ceiling. “Up two flights of steps and down the hallway to your left. Find the niche with the bust of Lord Coranthi, his door will be opposite.”

Kip gave her a wide smile then turned to hurry down the hallway.

“Bye.”

Her voice echoed after him. He hollered an answering, “Bye,” over his shoulder.

As he passed the fifth door, he heard raised voices coming from the sixth. Though the language was unfamiliar, the anger coming from the most vociferous of the two was unmistakable. For a moment he considered leaving the tray in front of the door and getting out of there.

What would happen to the cook if he did? Visions of the poor man getting berated for Kip’s lack of courage plagued him. He sighed and approached the door. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave. Steeling his courage, Kip knocked on the door.

The voices within grew silent and the trod of a large man approached.

He held his breath as the door swung open.

“What is…?”

A man easily six and a half feet tall with shoulders like an ox gave Kip a gaze that sent a tremor of fear coursing through his body. Turning to look back in the room, the man said a few words in the unfamiliar language.

From within came a reply. He turned back toward Kip and motioned for him to enter.

“Sit it on the table.”

“Yes, sir.”

Entering, Kip moved to the main table. Maps and papers were strewn across its surface. To the right of a very, very fat man seated on the opposite side, lay an area barely large enough to contain the tray. Where the first man was extremely tall and muscular, this one was short, fat and his neck jiggled like a turkey’s when he gestured to the cleared area and said, “Quickly, boy.”

Kip bobbed his head and swiftly crossed the room. Though withering under the fat man’s stare, the novice was quick to notice how the obese man’s clothes were of a finer cut than the tall man’s. This must be the Ambassador.

Kip’s hands trembled as he deposited the tray upon the table. If not for Sara’s words of caution, he might not have been as nervous. As he turned back to the door, a chubby hand clasped the neck of his tabard, bringing him to a stop.

“You are a Page, are you not, boy?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Kip nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Beneath a matched pair of bushy eyebrows atop twin, droopy rolls of fat, the Ambassador’s eyes bored into Kip’s. “I want you to tell Lord Black Hawk that I am not accustomed to being kept waiting. You tell him that I leave on the morrow, and if our business is not settled by then, it will be upon his head.”

“But…”

The hand clenched into a fist and the fat little arm lifted him from the ground. The collar of his tabard bit painfully into his neck. “But nothing, boy.” Pulling him closer, the man brought Kip’s face to within inches of his own.

“You tell him I will see him, tonight! Do you understand?”

Fear ran wild as he stared into the most merciless eyes he had ever encountered. Kip knew that his life was as nothing to this man. He may be protected by the designation of Page of the Keep, but that didn’t make the fear any less. In a voice slightly louder than a mouse’s squeak, he said, “Yes.”

“What?”

Louder. “Yes. I understand!” The last word he practically shouted.

The hand let go and his feet landed upon the floor. Kip quickly backed away from the Ambassador. The large man opened the door and Kip scrambled from the room. His posterior had just cleared the doorway when the door slammed shut behind him.

“See.”

Turning toward the voice, he saw Sara standing several feet away, minus the stack of folded cloth.

Heart calming, the shaking of his knees subsiding, Kip nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“He can’t hurt you, you know. Pages are protected.”

“They are?” Leaning against the side of the hallway, he allowed his nerves to recover a little bit more.

She nodded. “Oh, he’ll yell at you, but it is considered a breach of hospitality to hurt a member of the Lord’s court.”

Kip was surprised by that. “I’m a member of court?”

“Well, not exactly. But Pages are protected. They are considered part of the Lord’s household, and as such, can’t be touched.”

He thought back to the Page lying bound and unconscious he had left in that guest room. “What, uh, happens to someone who hurts a Page?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think that has happened for some time. It would probably be up to the Lord on what to do with the miscreant. I think the punishment would be severe, though. Lord Black Hawk can’t very well allow people to think such an act is without consequences. Though it probably depends on who hurt the Page.

“If it was a noble, probably not much more than concessions in whatever it was they were in talks about.”

“How about a commoner?”

“Cut off a hand? Prison? Death? An attack on Lord’s household is like an attack upon the Lord himself. So don’t worry about it.” She reached out and patted him upon the chest where Black Hawk’s insignia lay. “As long as you wear this, you’re safe from harm.”

“Great,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Lose a hand. Death? Kip hoped the Lord Black Hawk would understand the circumstances that led Kip to attack the Page. The High Priest wouldn’t allow it, would he?

“I best be finding Ceadric and deliver my message.” He moved away from the wall.

She came up and patted him on the cheek. “Hope to see you again.”

The personal attention unexpectedly flustered him. “Uh, yeah. That would be great.”

After flashing a smile, she turned and proceeded down the hallway.

He watched her departure for several seconds before realizing he was standing still. Shaking his head, Kip hurried down the hallway in the opposite direction in hopes of finding the steps leading to the upper levels.

Not far past the Ambassador’s room the hallway ended at another passage running to the right and left. A glance to the right showed the beginning of an upward staircase. He moved in that direction and then stepped lively as he ascended to the next level.

Fortune smiled upon him for the stairway continued to the second level where Sara said Ceadric could be found. The steps continued on to a third level, but Kip stepped from the landing and turned left into the hallway.

“Now…” he mumbled to himself, “need to find the room across from the bust of some lord or another.”

The trappings upon this level were much finer than those in the ones below. A soft rug ran the length of the hallway and displayed not far from the stairwell was a fine tapestry. Taller than Kip and wider than he could stretch his arms, it was perhaps the largest of its kind that Kip had ever seen. The Temple had nothing to compare.

Two armies fought upon a field of snow. One held the high ground and the other strove to expel them from it. Neither side looked to be winning and the uniform designations were unfamiliar to the young novice. They definitely weren’t the Lord Black Hawk’s or that of Madoc’s soldiery. He recalled overhearing a conversation between Jiron and the Dark Mage in which he learned that this castle had once belonged to the Empire. It had been liberated several years ago near the end of the war.

Upon realizing he had paused a length of time before it, Kip pulled his eyes away and hurried on.

The first door had no niche or bust opposite it upon the wall. The second had a torch sconce. The third had a less than spectacular tapestry hanging next to it while the fourth had nothing.

A little farther ahead, the corridor came to an end. There was but one door remaining. He sighed in relief upon spying the wall niche opposite the door. As he drew nearer, the bust of a helmed man sitting within came into view. Kip paused before the door. This was the one.

As he raised his hand to knock and make his presence known, muffled voices came from the other side. Years on the streets had made him cautious about interrupting someone at an inopportune moment. Lowering his hand, he placed an ear against the door.

One voice definitely belonged to a man. The other could possibly have been a woman though the thickness of the door made it difficult to tell.

This was the meeting Ceadric was involved with? A tryst?

Kip sighed. There was nothing for it. Raising his hand again, he rapped smartly three times upon the door. Instantly, the voices within quieted. A moment later the door opened.

He who opened the door was of average height with a touch of gray around the temples and retained a strong physique. Battle scars lined his arms, and his face bore a long ago wound, two inches in length that traveled little less than horizontal along his left jaw line. Though dressed in night clothes, he could be none other than the Ceadric whom the Dark Mage described.

When his eyes fell upon Kip, they narrowed slightly. “I thought I left…”

Before Kip knew what was happening, the man’s arm reached out, grabbed him by the front of his page tabard and yanked him unceremoniously into the room.

The young novice stumbled and crashed into the side of a small table, overturning a bottle of wine. When he righted himself and turned around, the point of a sword hovered less than a hair’s breadth from his chest. Swallowing hard, Kip raised his eyes and looked upon an expression promising mayhem and possibly death.

“Who are you, boy?”

Kip’s eyes flicked to the lady standing near the bed. She wore but a flimsy gown that left nothing to the imagination. Her hand was raised before her mouth as she looked upon the scene unfolding before her with ill-concealed fright.

He couldn’t blurt out his message while she remained in the room. Both Jiron and the Dark Mage had been most implicit on this point.

“No one can know we are here,” the Dark Mage had said.

“But what if I can’t get him alone?”

Jiron had given him a look that spoke volumes. Emphasizing each word by jabbing his finger at the novice, he had said, “Then you say nothing.”

Thinking fast, Kip replied, “I bear a message from the Kirken Ambassador.”

Pain blossomed as the sword point began digging into the front of the tunic.

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

The sword point left the middle of his chest and settled upon where Black Hawk’s insignia had been embroidered into the material. Ceadric once again applied painful pressure. “I know every Page in service to Lord Black Hawk and you are not one. So I ask you again, who are you?”

The pain inflicted by the sword slowly, yet inexorably, increased while he remained silent. His eyes flicked to the woman. If not for her, he could speak freely and deliver his message. Fabric parted beneath the pressure until the blade reached skin. Kip backed up until he came into contact with the table. The blade advanced in equal measure.

He was going to die right there if he didn’t do something drastic. Young though he was, he had much experience getting out of tricky predicaments such as this. One who failed to adapt quickly to threatening situations doesn’t last long when they lived on the streets.

Grabbing hold of the table edge with both hands, Kip thrust his upper body back over the tabletop while at the same time bringing up his foot to strike the blade. Then with legs arcing through the air, Kip rolled across the tabletop to land upon the floor on the opposite side of the table.

The woman screamed when a blade appeared in his hand.

Ceadric took hold of the table and thrust it aside. The overturned wine bottle flew through the air and crashed upon the floor

Kip knew he was unlikely to receive quarter from the aged Raider. Feinting away from the woman, he quickly changed direction when Ceadric moved in that direction to intercept him. With a cry, he raised his knife and launched himself after the woman.

That was enough for her. Screaming, she fled for the door.

“Call the guard,” Ceadric yelled as he moved to place his body between the young novice and the woman in flight.

Kip came to a halt as the sword once again took position before his chest.

Ceadric gave Kip a crooked smile, then said in a voice loud enough to carry out to the hallway, “He isn’t going anywhere.” The sword point hovered less than a hand span from his chest as his expression turned dark and eyes full of promised misery locked onto the young novice’s. “Are you?”

“No.”

The woman’s screams grew fainter as her panicked flight carried her farther down the hallway.

“Now boy, I…”

“Miko and The Gardener wish to talk.”

Kip searched Ceadric’s eyes for understanding. At first there was irritation for having been interrupted, then confusion quickly followed as he mulled over the words.

Rapidly approaching footsteps announced the imminent appearance of the guard.

“They said to mention Brook’s Hollow.”

There were very few who knew that The Dark Mage was also known by the title, The Gardener. Neither The Dark Mage nor the High Priest was certain if Ceadric had ever known. Jiron had suggested mentioning Brook’s Hollow for it had been the gathering place for Black Hawk’s Raiders when Illan assumed the infamous title once again.

He may not have known anything about The Gardener, but the High Priest hadn’t been the High Priest at the time. At the time when Black Hawk resurfaced, and his Raiders had gathered at Brook’s Hollow, the man now known as the High Priest of Morcyth had been only Miko.

“Sir!”

Guards rushed in. Two took hold of Kip while others searched the room for accomplices. Questions were asked and summarily ignored.

Eyes never leaving Ceadric’s, Kip saw how in a single instant, the man’s expression transformed from confusion to understanding. The sword point lowered to the floor.

“Shall we take him to the dungeon, sir?”

Ceadric glanced to the young officer and shook his head. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary.” Sheathing his sword, he signaled for the two guards holding Kip to release the young novice.

“Clear the room and post two guards outside the door. No one is to enter.”

The officer looked quizzically from Ceadric to Kip, then back again. “Yes, sir.”

Kip remained still while the guards vacated the room. Once the door was closed and he stood alone with the Raider Captain, he sighed.

Ceadric motioned toward a chair that had been overturned during the earlier scuffle.

Kip righted the chair and sat while Ceadric returned the table to its previous position and pulled another chair forward so he and Kip sat on opposite sides facing each other.

Elder fighter gazed uncertainly across the table at the young novice. “What is your name, boy?”

“Kip, milord.”

Ceadric shook his head. “I’m no lord, son. Call me Captain.”

“As you wish, Captain, uh,” Kip paused a moment, then added, “Ceadric?”

The Raider Captain nodded. “Right hand to Lord Black Hawk.” His expression darkened ever so slightly. “If this is some trick…”

“No trick, mi’, I mean, Captain. I am a novice in service to the god Morcyth. There have been certain events of which you need to be made aware.”

“So it would seem.”

“The Gardener had been away and has now returned, though he would prefer the world to remain ignorant of that fact. At least for now.”

Ceadric nodded. “I can appreciate that. There were rumors that he had been killed.”

Kip shook his head. “He is very much alive, I assure you.”

“What does he want?”

“I think I should leave that for him and the Reverend Father to explain. I was merely to find you and deliver their message. And if you are willing, to guide you to where they are waiting.” He paused a moment, then added, “Alone.”

At that, the Raider Captain arched an eyebrow. “How do I know you are who you say you are? It would seem odd for one of your station to be sent as messenger.”

“I was all they had, Captain.” Kip couldn’t help but let a small grin show as he said, “And since I am here talking with you, I was the right choice.”

Ceadric’s solemn demeanor broke and a matching grin surfaced. “So it would seem.”

“As for how you are to know I am who I claim to be, you must take that on faith.”

The grin vanished.

“I would like to apologize for scaring the lady as I did. It was the only way I could think of for us to be alone so I could deliver my message.”

“Well, I’m sure she will overcome the terror of the moment. You are a brave and resourceful lad, Kip.”

“Resourceful, maybe. But brave? Up until you cleared the room, I was quaking in my boots.”

Ceadric cast a quizzical look to the uniform Kip wore. “A Page’s boots?”

Kip tried looking sufficiently remorseful when he replied, “Well, about that…”

Chapter Eleven

Al-Ziron lay quiet at this late hour. Two cowled figures walked in silent procession from the Keep. One, smaller than the other, led while the second followed three paces behind holding a throwing dagger.

After much questioning, Ceadric had believed him, to a point.

“I shall go to this meeting, young Kip. But I warn you,” pulling a slim dagger from his boot, he showed it to the novice, “if this is a trick, you will be the first to die.”

Kip swallowed hard and nodded. “It is not a trick, I assure you.”

They had waited within the room while two cloaks with deep hoods were brought to shield their identities from unfriendly eyes. Ceadric had at first balked at such covert requirements, but Kip had said that The Dark Mage had requested it.

Now, Kip led the Raider Captain through darkened streets lit only intermittently by street lamps and open doorways. His shoulders tingled, fearing that at any moment the point of Ceadric’s dagger would find its home.

They were en route to The Split Cauldron, a less-than-reputable eatery located on the fringe where the poorer quarter merged with the better part of town. Its upper story boasted rooms that could be had for a day, or even by the hour.

Kip did his best to remember the route, but soon became lost in the unfamiliar territory and had been forced to seek Ceadric’s aid in reaching the eatery.

The Raider Captain had cursed a blue streak when informed of their destination.

“It’s on the other side of town!”

Kip withered beneath the verbal barrage.

Grabbing the young novice, Ceadric thrust him in the right direction, still keeping a three pace gap between them. When they came to intersecting avenues, he would instruct Kip as to which way to go.

After what seemed an eternity the sign bearing a cracked, leaky cauldron came into view. It was a three story establishment, the upper two levels devoted to rooms that few, other than beggars and the destitute would ever consider staying in.

No less than three beggars bearing various handicaps from loss of hands, eyes, and stumps for legs held forth hands at their approach. Ceadric didn’t so much as glance their way as he swept past and entered the eatery’s common room.

The smell was appalling. Acrid smoke wafted forth as the door opened. Kip detected the odors of at least two illegal substances in the air as he followed the Raider Captain.

“They are on the next level above, second door on the left. Knock three times, followed by two.”

Ceadric nodded and turned for the stairwell. Kip fell in behind.

An old man in ragged clothes lay passed out on the floor before the first step and they had to step over the prone body. Midway up, another man, this one probably in his early twenties stared with vacant eyes. A smoldering weed clutched in-between his lips.

It was the leaf of the Millae Plant. A single leaf, when rolled tightly and smoked, can offer the user an intense high for a short duration. Kip had known a few that used the drug. They said it opened their minds to the gods. While under the drug’s effects, visions would come.

Kip never thought much of the drug. Those who used it tended to have burns upon their lips because the drug rendered the user nearly comatose. The weed would continue to burn until the smoldering end reached the lips. By then, though, the user was so out of it that they failed to react when the smoldering weed burned the tender flesh. Considering the numerous scars on both upper and lower lips, this man was obviously a regular user of Millae.

More mind-numbed denizens of this place filled the second floor landing. The odor of Millae was overpowering.

Kip heard Ceadric mumble something under his breath, something along the lines of having to “clean this place up,” as the Raider Captain stepped over the overlapping bodies.

The hallway was little better. A woman dressed in little more than a single wrap that did little to cover her feminine attributes leaned against the second door on the left. Her eyes were as vacant as those on the landing.

Ceadric glanced from the woman to Kip. Upon receiving Kip’s shake of the head indicating he didn’t recognize her, the Raider Captain nudged her farther into the hallway. She took two wobbly steps before stumbling over another lying upon the floor. Neither she, nor the man upon whom she fell made a sound.

The silence was broken by three quick raps upon the door, followed a moment later by two more. The door opened a crack.

Kip recognized Father Keller. The priest took in Ceadric and Kip before fully opening the door. Motioning for them to enter, he gave Ceadric a slight bow. For Kip there was a brief grin and a nod of approval.

Three figures sat around the lone table on the far side of the room. A fourth chair remained vacant. The room was small with but one bed whereupon two others were seated.

Ceadric crossed the room toward the vacant chair. Kip moved to sit upon the bed next to Jira and Father Vickor. None spoke until the door shut and Father Keller threw the bolt.

James, Jiron and Miko stood as Ceadric drew near.

“I am glad to see you, Ceadric.”

The Raider Captain took the hand James extended and shook it. “We heard you were dead.”

“As you can see, the rumors were less than accurate.”

His stoic demeanor softened and a grin appeared. “I’m afraid I didn’t give much credence to your messenger. But he had enough right answers for me to doubt he was up to no good.”

Jiron motioned for the Raider Captain to sit, then he, James and Miko returned to their seats as well.

“I hope you understand that discretion is paramount at this time.”

Ceadric nodded to the one-time pit fighter. “Completely.” Turning to James, he asked, “What did happen?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much time to go into any great detail. Suffice it to say that my island was attacked by men in the uniform of The Empire.”

His expression turned serious. “The Empire?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know if they were behind the attack, or if I was meant to believe they were had the attack failed.”

“Have you heard anything from within The Empire that might shed light on this?”

Ceadric glanced to Jiron and shook his head. “Not a thing. Their warlords are busy fighting one another and I doubt if any care enough about you to launch an attack. In fact, most see you as being the one having given them the opportunity to seize power.” After half a moment, he added, “You might want to speak with Illan about this.”

“We heard he was out of the Aerie,” James said.

“He is. Three days ago word came of trouble over in the Briddlestone Hills off to the west. He left with three-score men to investigate.”

“Nothing serious I hope.”

“Three men and two women from several villages in the Hills have gone missing over the last two weeks. Several farmers claim they’ve lost livestock as well.”

“Bandits, do you think?” Miko asked.

“That’s what Illan intends to find out. Losing livestock is one thing, but we can’t have our people up and disappearing.”

“Hope he finds them,” Father Keller said.

“He will.”

“What about Lord Cytok? I know he would like nothing more than to see me dead.” Lord Cytok had been second only to the Emperor prior to the arrival of James. Afterward, his influence had been greatly diminished.

Returning his gaze to James, Ceadric nodded. “That is true. However, the territory he controls is beset on three sides by rivals seeking to seize his lands for themselves. Even if he wanted to seek vengeance, he simply does not have the resources to spare.”

“That is what I thought.”

“Is this why you wished to meet with me? To see if The Empire was behind the attack?”

“In part, yes. But right now, there is a matter of more pressing urgency.”

Ceadric raised his eyebrows questioningly when James paused.

“The City Watch has Scar and Potbelly along with two others of our company.”

The Raider Captain rolled his eyes. “What did those two do this time?”

“Nothing that would warrant their arrest,” Miko replied. “This is an old score between the Watch Commander and them.”

“Well, they should think twice before absconding with men in his command.”

“We would like you to intervene and get them out for us.”

Ceadric sighed. “That isn’t as easy as one might think.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, the City Watch doesn’t report to Black Hawk, but to the City Council.”

Jira came off the bed. “Can’t you do anything?”

Giving her a smile and tousling her hair, he replied, “Perhaps I can,” then returned his attention to James. “I take it you are not planning on doing anything?”

James shook his head. “I could, but that might alert those who attacked the island that I was in the area. It would be best if this could be handled on a local level.”

“I concur. How long ago were they taken?”

“Several hours.”

“Hmm.” Coming to his feet, Ceadric said, “I best be going then. I’ll see what I can do.” Pausing at the door, he turned back toward James. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“So am I.”

After Ceadric departed, James turned to Jiron. “Do you think he can get them out?”

“If not, we’ll have no choice but to go in and get them ourselves.”

James sighed, then nodded.

Not far from the eatery, half a score men ready for battle waited. Ceadric had positioned them within earshot should a quick rescue be warranted. Fortunately for all concerned, the Raider Captain emerged safely.

“Some friends are being held at the City Jail.”

Jorl, a Raider Captain of many years and one of Ceadric’s long-time comrades, grinned. “Trouble, do you think?”

Ceadric nodded. “Without Black Hawk here at the Aerie, things could get dicey.”

Another soldier snorted. “About time we did something about the Guard. They’re a bunch of rogues and tavern-idlers if you ask me.” Several others grunted in agreement.

“Who do they have?”

Glancing to his men, Ceadric replied, “Friends.” His tone indicated that was all he planned to say. “From what I understand, the Watch Commander has an old score to settle with them.”

Pointing to two of the younger Raiders, he said, “Run to The Rusty Scabbard and see how many of our men you can find. Take position in the back and waylay any guards that might be returning to the Jail. You have ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” they said with a nod and raced off to carry out their orders.

Six more Raiders were sent to other nearby haunts. When it was down to himself, Jorl and three others, Ceadric indicated for them to join him and headed toward the Jail.

En route, they picked up another three Raiders. When they drew within sight of the Jail, he set four to watch the avenue. He, Jorl and two of the more veteran of the newer Raiders proceeded at a leisurely pace toward the entrance. Two torches sitting one to either side of the door bathed the area in light. Ceadric came to a halt before entering their field of luminescence.

From within, they heard a man cry out and another shouting.

“Torturing them do you think?”

Ceadric glanced to his man. “Let’s hope not.” He feared what The Dark Mage might do should he be unable to diffuse the situation.

“Shall we go in?”

Shaking his head, the Raider Captain replied, “No. We’ll wait for our men to arrive.”

A great cry went up from within.

“Something’s going on,” one of his men said.

Jorl tried to pierce the shuttered windows for a clue as to what. “Might be the other prisoners.”

Ceadric shrugged. “If so, that’s their problem.”

His attention was drawn to the sound of someone approaching. From out of the darkened street, one of the men sent to gather others appeared.

“Three score men are moving into position, sir.”

“Good. Tell them to hold position and move only on my command. Should any guards return to the jail, detain them.”

“Yes, sir.” Saluting, the man turned smartly about and raced back into the darkness.

“Now?” Jorl asked.

Ceadric nodded. “Let’s go.”

Jorl kept to his right while the other two Raiders followed behind. As they entered the glow of the torches, shouting once again erupted and this time, there was the unmistakable clang of metal striking metal.

Ceadric drew his sword and rushed the steps.

Jorl spied one of their men at the corner of the building as his sword leapt to hand and moved to follow his Captain. He signaled to the Raider for those lying in wait to swarm the building.

Hitting the door with his shoulder, Ceadric rushed into a scene of utter mayhem. Tables lay smashed, chairs broken, and nearly two-thirds score men lay strewn about the floor; some moaned, others moved not at all.

Six men remained upright. One was pinned to the wall, a knife piercing his hand kept him firmly in place. Two others were busy tossing a uniformed man into a nearby cell. Of the three left, one wore the uniform of the Watch Commander. A two-foot jagged piece of broken staff pressed painfully against his neck.

The man holding it turned toward Ceadric as he entered. “About time you got here.”

Tinok smiled not at all as he returned his gaze to the Watch Commander. He put additional pressure on the broken staff-end and the Watch Commander winced. A drop of blood trickled from the point of contact.

Scar stood next to Tinok with sword in hand and wearing a big grin. The grin vanished when armed men rushed in from the back and through the front. He readied to meet the charge.

“Hold!”

Ceadric’s shout brought his men to a halt.

Potbelly and Shorty stood back to back before a cell containing six unconscious men wearing Guard uniforms, one of which had recently been cast ignominiously upon his comrades. The former bore a sword while the latter held a knife in each hand.

A Raider eyed the situation then turned a questioning gaze to Ceadric, “Sir?”

“Ceadric, seize…”

Tinok cut off the rest of the Watch Commander’s words by asserting additional pressure upon the broken staff-end. The trickle of blood had now soaked a copper’s sized spot on the Commander’s collar.

Jorl kept sword in hand as he glanced to his Captain.

“Take the men and ensure we are not disturbed until our business here has been concluded.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Sheathing his sword, Jorl ordered the men back to their positions outside. Snickers and rude comments directed at the Watch for being taken out even when outnumbering their opponents turned the Watch Commanders face red with anger.

Ceadric’s gaze never wavered from Tinok and the Watch Commander. “I think you can lower that now.”

“Are you sure?” Scar asked.

“Yeah,” chimed in Potbelly from where he and Shorty were picking up a seventh unconscious guard to add to the pile within the cell. “He might kill us all.” At which Shorty and Scar gave out with loud guffaws.

Coming to stand next to Tinok, Ceadric laid a hand on the arm holding the broken staff. “That’s enough.”

There was something in the pit fighter’s eyes that gave the Raider Captain pause. For a moment, he worried the jagged end might just as easily go up and through the Watch Commander’s throat, as go down. When Tinok lowered the broken staff, Ceadric breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“Call your men back, Ceadric!” ordered the Watch Commander. “These men are criminals and are to be held, tried, and executed!” Scar’s laughter only increased the red-faced Commander’s rage.

Ceadric failed to respond. Instead, he took a good look at the bodies lying about the floor. “Anyone dead?”

Scar stepped over a fellow writhing upon the floor with arm clutched to chest, and came to stand next to the Raider Captain. “I don’t think so.”

“So, what happened?”

Nodding toward the Watch Commander, Scar replied, “He wasn’t content to merely hold us.”

“Torture?”

“Of a sort. We were more than happy to go along until this could be sorted out. But when two guards started tying Potbelly to the bars and a third approached with a cudgel, we had to act.”

“Do something, Ceadric!” the Watch Commander exclaimed.

Turning toward the man, the Raider Captain shrugged. “Aren’t you forever telling us to stay out of your business? That what happens within Al-Ziron is your province and that we should, how did you put it, keep our bastard, Raider noses out of it?”

Shorty came up behind the Commander and pressed a knife point against his ribs. He gestured to a nearby cell. “This way, Commander.”

The Watch Commander refused to move at first, but when Shorty’s blade pressed painfully into his side, he acceded to the command and entered the cell.

Tinok remained quiet and off to the side; the broken staff-end still in his hand. His eyes stared toward nothing in particular. It wasn’t until the Commander had been locked within one of his own cells and Shorty tapped him on the shoulder that he returned to the here and now.

“Give us a hand with the others?”

Glancing to the knifer, Tinok nodded and proceeded to aid Potbelly and Shorty in transferring the rest of the guards to cells. He was neither gentle nor rough, merely methodical.

“How did you know we were here?”

Ceadric glanced first to Scar, then over to where the Watch Commander stewed in his own cell. “I got word from someone who saw you being taken. For all that you’ve done for Madoc, I couldn’t leave you to the Commander’s tender mercies.” Returning his attention to Scar, he gave the barest of grins as he said, “But it would seem my intervention was not needed.”

Chuckling, Scar nodded. “We waded through them like they were babes in the woods. None would last a moment in the Pits.” Raising his voice so the Watch Commander would hear, he added, “Don’t worry about us ever returning to recruit your men. They’re worthless.”

The Watch Commander merely glowered at him, his expression one of promised retribution.

“Are you going to get into trouble over this?”

Ceadric shrugged. “Only if they are willing to stand up to Black Hawk.”

Scar laughed. “Then…I doubt it.”

With the clanging of a cell door’s closure, Potbelly, Tinok and Shorty joined them. Three cells were now full of guards, both conscious and otherwise.

Their swords, knives, and other equipment lay in a heap where it had been knocked to the floor during the fight. Once they reclaimed their items, they passed through to the back of the Jail to the stable holding their mounts.

Keeping his voice low, Ceadric asked Scar, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

Scar shook his head. “Not a clue. He wouldn’t tell us anything. I do know, though, that we’re headed for the Empire.”

That caused the Raider Captain’s eyebrows to arch. “The Empire?”

“So it seems.”

“Why?”

Scar shrugged then set the saddle in place and cinched the straps. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Tinok was first to mount and waited near the doorway leading to the small courtyard. He gazed silently into the darkness beyond.

Ceadric nodded in the pit fighter’s direction. “Is he okay?”

Scar took a moment to answer. “No, though I don’t know what’s wrong. He rarely speaks anymore; lets his knives do the talking for him you might say. To be honest, I’m surprised there weren’t any corpses tonight.

“He was the one that started it. When the guard raised a staff the length of my arm with the width of an owl’s egg, and made ready to strike Potbelly, Tinok was there before the first blow landed. How he slipped out of his bonds, I don’t know but before anyone could react, he had possession of the staff, broke it in half, and then used the two ends like clubs.

“A guard fell near me and I got his knife and cut my bonds, then freed Shorty and Potbelly. The rest you know.”

Ceadric gazed upon Tinok with wonder. “Two halves of a broken staff and he takes out half a score?”

“Well, me, Potbelly, and Shorty helped too. But yeah; he had half of them out cold before we could join the fray.”

Potbelly had mounted and rode over to them. “What Scar said earlier was spot on. They weren’t that good. In fact, most were fumble-headed idiots.”

“True enough,” added Shorty. Mounted and ready to depart, he rode past and went to wait with Tinok. They spoke quietly together.

After a quick glance to ensure they were the only ones in the stable, Ceadric moved close to Scar and whispered, “You’ll find them at The Rusty Cauldron.”

There was no need to elaborate further on who Ceadric meant. Without replying, Scar swung up onto his horse.

“My thanks, Captain.”

Ceadric cracked a grin. “Any excuse to rattle the Watch Commander.”

Scar laughed as did Potbelly.

At The Rusty Cauldron, Kip and Father Vickor waited outside.

At sight of their comrade’s approach, Kip returned within the inn while Father Vickor remained to greet the new arrivals, explaining that the others would be down shortly.

“We’re getting out of here, right?” Potbelly asked.

The priest nodded. “The horses are saddled and our equipment secured. As soon as the others join us, we head west.”

Scar grew puzzled. “West? I thought our road led to the south.”

“Lord Black Hawk is to the west, and he still desires to speak with him before turning south.”

A hooded James and Jiron emerged through the door with a diminutive cloaked form between them. Miko and Father Keller followed. Jira peered out from beneath her hood and flashed her Uncle Scar and Uncle Potbelly a grin.

Scar replied with a grin of his own.

Potbelly gave her a wave.

In silence, the group went around back to the stables and soon left the town of Al-Ziron behind.

Chapter Twelve

It took half an hour of southward travel before reaching the road cutting east-west across the northern no-man’s land between The Empire and Madoc. Taking it westward, they crossed the Ti-Migala River.

A thin copse of trees several miles from the river proved a somewhat suitable place to make camp. Jiron set the order of watch. Everyone, including Kip, took a turn. Of course, Kip’s scheduled time overlapped both Fathers Keller and Vickor. Even though they were not within the Temple back in the City of Light, instructions in the faith continued; much to the lad’s chagrin.

Father Keller stood before a kneeling Kip.

“Try again.”

Kip closed his eyes and strove to find what Father Keller had called “the connection.”

“Typically, young Kip, you would not have reached this point so early in your studies. Recent events, however, have made it essential that you be able to call upon the power of Morcyth.

“Clear your mind of everything save your devotion. Think upon your desire to serve and follow the tenets set down by the Reverend Father, and the connection will come.”

An hour now had been spent in fruitless searching for the elusive connection. Kip hadn’t a clue what to search for and the ever repeated “It will come” held little instruction how to find it.

Okay, Morcyth. Here I am, ready to serve.

Errant thoughts intruded upon the serenity he strove to create in his mind. He would banish one to the nether recesses of his consciousness only to have an equally disruptive one replace it.

White light enveloped Father Keller. “Can you feel it, young Kip? For those who open themselves to it, the power of Morcyth will come.”

Easy for you to say, and do, for that matter. How am I ever to find what can’t be found? What if the reason I can’t make the connection is that Morcyth has deemed me unworthy? Feelings of nervousness and embarrassment kept his mind from forming the peace Father Keller insisted was necessary to link with their god.

Minutes passed and he was no closer to his goal.

“It can be hard, especially the first time.”

Kip opened his eyes and raised his head to glance at the brawler-turned-priest before him. His worry and doubt must have been clearly written across his face for Father Keller favored him with a kindly smile.

“Fear not, you will find it when the time is right. And only our Lord Morcyth knows when that will be.”

From nearby, Kip heard a chuckle. It was Father Vickor watching them from his bedroll.

“Tell him when it came to you.”

Father Keller’s face reddened and gave his fellow priest a disapproving look. “It’s another hour until your turn. Go back to sleep.”

Sighing, Father Vickor sat up. Brushing an errant strand of dark hair back into place, he said, “Doubt if I could sleep now anyway.”

Kip glanced from one to the other. Father Vickor appeared unusually amused while Father Keller’s expression hadn’t softened in the slightest.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Looking indignant, Father Keller replied, “I don’t see how it is any of his business.”

“Then I shall.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Putting finger to lips, Father Vickor nodded to those sleeping nearby. “Shhh! You’ll wake them.” Turning to Kip, he said, “It was during our second year at the Temple. I had already mastered summoning the power of Morcyth a year earlier, as had the seven others who had been novices with us. Keller, me and those who joined with us were among the very first to be inducted into the priesthood.”

“Is this really necessary?”

He gave Father Keller a grin and shook his head. “No, not really.” Then he returned his attention to Kip. “Now, as I was saying, he and I were at this tavern having a few ales during the first break we had been allowed after a long fortnight of studies. As you know, our order has no rule about chastity like some of the others do.

“Well, there were these two girls; and they were very friendly toward us let me tell you.” He nodded toward Father Keller. “He disappears with one to a room upstairs. They weren’t gone two minutes before that poor girl gave out with a shriek that nearly stripped the wood from the walls.

“Down the stairs she flew as if the Death Specter was hot on her heels. A moment later, here comes poor Father Keller.”

Kip couldn’t help but give out with a chuckle at the image.

“’What’s wrong?’ he shouted, not knowing that he was aglow with the power of Morcyth.”

“Screaming the whole way, the... the…,” reining in his laughter, he glanced to the others to see if he had disturbed them; he hadn’t. “The girl ran from the tavern!” Laughter finally got the better of him and ended any further attempt to continue the story.

His attempt to keep a solemn expression failed and Father Keller added his baritone cackle to that of his fellow priest and novice.

“Okay, I think he gets the picture.”

It took a bit before their laughter ran its course and conversation was once again possible.

“So you see, Kip, it’ll come when it does and not always when you hope.”

Still bearing a grin, their young novice nodded at Father Vickor’s sage words.

“But,” the priest continued, his face losing much of the merriment it had held but a moment before, “that still does not reprieve you from attempting to seek it on your own. Now, begin again.”

Sighing, Kip returned to his kneeling position as Father Vickor assumed the role of instructor, and Father Keller, turn at watch over, went to his bedroll.

Early the next morning they encountered a small village of little more than half a dozen ramshackle huts thrown haphazardly together along either side of the road. There they inquired about the whereabouts of Black Hawk.

An old man, blind in one eye, said that Black Hawk had taken the road leading to Tinker, a small mining town nestled deep in the Briddlestone Hills to the north.

“There have been some strange goings-on around here of late.”

Acting the leader, Scar did the talking for their group. “Like what?”

“Little Holly disappeared not two nights ago. About that time, strange noises could be heard, but only at night.”

“I’m sure the night is full of all kinds of noises.”

The old man shook his head. “Not like this. Growls there were, but also…”

Scar leaned forward. “What?”

“Well, I didn’t hear it, but Gwellyn claimed that three nights before Black Hawk rode through, there came the most unnatural growling from just outside his window ledge. And there weren’t just growling. Gwellyn said that intermixed among the growls and grunts was speech, speech just as you and I are talking now.”

Scar chuckled. “A beast that talks?”

Jiron glanced to James, but his friend’s face was unreadable.

“Yes, sir. If not for Adge saying he heard it the night before as well, we would hardly have thought anything about it. Gwellyn has been known to take a few too many sips from the cask if you take my meaning.”

“Do you know if these growlings and voices were the reason Black Hawk was heading for Tinker?”

“I’m not the sort a great lord like Black Hawk takes into his confidence, but,” he pointed to where a small dirt trail broke from the main road and turned north, “he went that way when he left.”

Taking a silver from his pouch, Scar flipped it to the old man. “Thank you for your help.”

A bony hand snatched the coin from the air and quickly secreted it away within his worn shirt.

Scar nudged his horse into motion and turned onto the trail heading for Tinker.

As James rode past the old man, he slowed.

“Did Gwellyn mention what the words he heard, were?”

The old man glanced up and shook his head. “I’m terribly sorry, good sir, but Gwellyn had been in his cups as it were and his memory is a bit hazy even in the daylight. He does stand by his saying that the beast spoke, though he can’t recall the actual words.”

Jiron brought his horse in next to James’. “He could have imagined it.”

James nodded. “True.”

The others came to a halt as they waited for James to finish with the old man.

“What about this Adge. Did he mention anything about the beast talking like a man?”

“No, sir. All he heard was growling.”

James considered the old man’s words for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

The old man bobbed his head as James nudged his horse into motion. He rode in silence until the small gathering of huts had all but vanished in the distance.

“What do you think, Miko?”

Glancing back from his position at third in line, the High Priest of Morcyth shrugged. “He spoke truth, at least as far as he knew it.”

“The guy was drunk,” Scar commented. “I’ve heard dogs talk and seen horses fly when I’ve been ‘in my cups.’”

Potbelly sniggered. “And when you haven’t been, too.”

Scar gave his friend a playful smack in the shoulder and laughed. “Right you are. In fact, there was that time when we went to the Isle of Demogorata. Their god took the form of a dog, and the god’s statue in front of the temple spoke whenever the faithful drew near.”

From where she rode next to her father, Jira hollered, “What about flying horses, Uncle Scar. When did you see one of those?”

“Well, my little one, it was seven…no eight years ago. Potbelly had gone on one of his binges and had vanished for three days…” The next half hour was filled with ships, flying horses, and as unlikely a tale ever told in the world of man.

The Briddlestone Hills was a rough-hewn landscape, only sparsely forested. The predominate feature of this unforgiving terrain were the large boulders scattered over and around the rolling hills. Birds were few in number and of other, land-bound wildlife, there was no sight.

Given the tale of this beast spoken of by the old man, Jira and Kip were made to ride in the center of the group. Scar and Potbelly took the lead while Shorty and Tinok brought up the rear. Jiron kept near his daughter, always keeping one hand resting on a knife’s hilt.

“Wonder how much farther this place is?” mused Father Keller. He turned to Miko. “Think they ever heard about Morcyth?”

“Why?” replied Father Vickor. “Are you looking to set up a temple here?”

Father Keller flashed him a sour look.

Miko grinned. “Until we return to the City, we are naught but simple travelers. There will be no spreading of the Word.”

“True enough,” James added. “For all we know, Tinker might hold a Dmon-Li temple and we do not wish to allow our enemies knowledge of my return. At least not yet.”

The trail wound its way up along a rather steep incline. At the summit, twin boulders sat as silent sentinels on either side of the road.

“Good place for an ambush,” murmured Jiron.

Fortunately, his words failed to prove prophetic and they passed through unmolested. Once past the massive stones, they overlooked a valley wherein lay the town of Tinker.

It was a fair sized town given the remoteness of its location. Over twenty buildings comprised the town center with another dozen in view sprinkled throughout the neighboring hills.

From their vantage point, they could see where another two trails departed from Tinker. The one heading deeper into the hills to the north was wider and better maintained than the one cutting its way along an arroyo to the west.

James moved forward to come abreast of Scar and Potbelly.

“Do you see Illan or his men?”

Scar shook his head. “The place looks deserted.”

Tinker did look bereft of living inhabitants; chimneys were smokeless and the streets vacant. The valley was ominously quiet.

Looking to James for direction, Scar continued forward upon receiving the go-ahead.

“Keep an eye out,” Jiron announced. Grabbing Jira from off her horse, he placed her in front of him on his so he could better protect her. The scene below made him uncomfortable, and he’d long ago learned to trust his feelings about such things.

The town unfolded with greater clarity as they rode down from the hill and approached the outlying buildings. First to be encountered was a farmhouse with a sizeable corral.

“Hello the house!” Scar shouted as they approached.

When no reply came, he slowed and glanced back to James. “Should we investigate?”

James took in the corral devoid of livestock and the house seemingly empty. It didn’t appear abandoned, but rather like someone had just gone to the neighbor’s.

“Yes.”

“Vick, go with him. There could be people in need.”

Father Vickor nodded and dismounted joining Scar as the Master of the Pit approached the front door. It was closed.

“Do you sense anything?” James asked Miko.

“Nothing definite.”

“I feel it too.”

“What?” Jira asked, then turned her gaze upon Jiron. “What does he feel, Father?”

“An uneasiness, Jira. Something is not right here.”

She returned her attention back to Scar and Father Vickor.

Scar was the first to the door. Drawing one of his two swords, he gently pushed the door open with his free hand.

“Is anyone here? Are you in need of aid?”

Again, the only reply was silence.

Father Vickor now held his mace in hand and together, he and Scar entered the farmhouse. A moment later, they re-emerged.

“No one here,” Scar announced.

“Any sign of trouble?”

Father Vickor shook his head. “No.”

“Well, let’s get going,” Potbelly said. “The sooner we find Illan, the sooner we can get out of here.”

Jiron noticed James’ attention was now being directed toward the town center. He followed his gaze. “Empty.”

“I know.” Turning to look toward his friend, James said, “Even a town this small should have someone out and about. It’s only a little past noon.”

A lonely breeze picked up as they left the farmhouse behind. They next came to a two-story building that was obviously a local watering hole; the evenly spaced windows on the second floor indicated it doubled as an inn. Out front hung a sign depicting a frothy flagon.

“Care for a drink?” Glancing back over his shoulder, Scar saw James nod.

“Go ahead and check it out.”

“Same as before,” Jiron added. “A quick in and out.”

Potbelly laughed. “That’s what he always does in a place like this.” His humor fell short as everyone was much too concerned with where Tinker’s people had gone.

Father Vickor dismounted and joined Scar at the front door. Just as the Pit Master was about to reach for the door, the priest grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

Radiating the white glow of Morcyth’s power, Father Vickor turned to Miko. “There is a presence here.”

Miko closed his eyes as the white glow of Morcyth enveloped him as well. A moment later, the glow vanished. “It is an old presence, one trapped here from long ago. It will not harm you.”

“A ghost?”

Giving James a nod, Mike replied, “You might say that. Quite often, old buildings contain remnants of those who have passed on. This one is weak and benign.”

Scar gazed uncertainly at the door. “Are you sure?”

Miko gave him a half-grin. “Absolutely.”

Despite assurances that all would be fine, Father Vickor retained the power of Morcyth as he and Scar entered the tavern.

“What causes a presence to be left behind after a person dies?” Shorty asked.

Miko shrugged. “I do not know for certain. I only know that it does happen. Sometimes the presence is harmless, other times not so.”

“Any idea who it is, or was?”

“No. You would have to speak to it in order to discover its identity.”

Jiron turned his gaze from the building to Miko. “You can talk to ghosts?”

“Those more powerful, yes. This one however is much too weak for any attempt at conversation to be successful.”

“Interesting.”

A thoughtful look came over Potbelly. “Can you catch one?”

“I suppose anything is possible. Why?”

Quickly assuming nonchalance, he replied, “Oh, no reason.”

James recalled a meeting years ago with the spirit of a former priest of Morcyth. It had been set to guard the hiding place of the Fire, the focal point on this world for the god Dmon-Li. That spirit must have been among the more powerful.

There had been another instance in a swamp where there had been pyramids formed of skulls where James, Miko and Jiron encountered many spirits.

These thoughts and others occupied his mind until Scar and Father Vickor emerged from the tavern. Scar carried a small keg beneath one arm.

“Just like the farmhouse,” he announced. “Deserted and not looking disturbed.”

Potbelly swung a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. He nodded to the cask. “What do you have?”

“Wine,” he replied with a grin.

“I hope you paid for it?”

The Pit Master turned to James and nodded. “Sure did.”

James eyed the former pit-fighter. The fact that Scar had neglected to mention the number of coins left behind was not lost on him. Probably left a copper. Disapproval was clearly written upon his face.

Once the keg had been secured to a pack mule, they continued on toward the unnaturally empty town center. Not a sound could be heard aside from the intermittent rustle of leaves and the clip-clop of hooves.

The next few buildings they gave but cursory inspections as they rode past. Each time they found the scene the same: normalcy. At least it would have seemed normal if the entire town were not deserted.

James had them pause before a three-story stone building that housed the town’s administrative offices. The front door was ajar.

“Shall we investigate?” Scar asked.

Shaking his head, James replied, “No. Better find Illan first.”

Jiron glanced to the dirt street and the multitude of hoof prints that led toward the northern trail and into the hills. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”

Scar and Potbelly again took the lead. At Tinker’s northern edge, they discovered a bivouac site less than two days old.

“He was here,” Potbelly announced.

The hoof prints continued on into the hills. James indicated for them to continue. Once over a wooden bridge that spanned a creek cutting across their route, the trail serpentined through a series of rolling switchbacks until Tinker was lost to view.

Moving deeper within the hills, the trail came to pass along the banks of a small lake before returning to the hills. As they traversed the lake and were about to leave its shoreline, Potbelly signaled them to stop.

“Something up ahead.”

Scar frowned and scanned the trail before them. “I don’t see anything.”

“I doubt if you would,” returned his friend. Glancing back over his shoulder to the others, he said, “Listen.”

Other than intermittent bird calls, James couldn’t detect any reason why Potbelly would have had them stop.

“You’re crazy,” Scar said.

Potbelly ignored his friend.

Moving to join the two at the fore, Jiron kept searching the hills as he asked, “What was it you heard? Illan’s men?”

“I…I’m not sure.”

Turning back toward the trail ahead, Potbelly cocked his head to one side. After a moment he shook his head and said, “It’s gone.”

“What do you think?”

Jiron glanced to James, then returned his gaze to where the trail ahead passed alongside where part of the hill had given way some time in the past. Bordering the trail on the opposite side lay a tangled mass of fallen trees. “Perfect place for an ambush.”

“Who would there be to ambush us with Illan and his Raiders in the area?” Shorty asked.

Casting a glance to the knifer, Jiron shrugged. “Didn’t say there was one, just that it would be a good place for one.”

Potbelly scanned the gap ahead between the hillside and the trees, but failed to locate whatever had caught his attention.

Jiron turned to James. “Shall we continue?”

“Yes, but everyone stay on their guard.” Despite Scar’s assertion that Potbelly was crazy, he knew the one-time pit fighter was not prone to nervous imaginings. As their party resumed heading up the trail, James felt unease.

Scar took the lead upon reaching the narrow gap in the trail. He too gave more credence to Potbelly’s warning than he had led onto. One hand held the reins while the other rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it forth should danger develop.

Moving into the gap, he followed the trail as it moved beyond the collapsed hillside and into an area where the land rose at a greater angle than what they had yet encountered. Trees sparsely dotted the landscape.

On his right, the mass of fallen trees came to an end. As he passed beyond, a flash of white caught his eye. It appeared for only a brief moment before vanishing behind a tall oak tree.

Drawing his sword, Scar pointed the blade toward the tree. “There. Saw something.”

Potbelly drew his sword and came up next to his friend. “What was it?”

“Not sure. It was white, though.”

Jira turned a nervous look toward her father. “A ghost?”

He gave her a reassuring grin. “I don’t think so.”

Scar and Potbelly nudged their horses toward the tree with Shorty coming up behind. Father Keller hurried to join them.

Overhearing Jira’s question, he glanced to Miko who shook his head. “It is of this world. Of that I am certain.”

“What is it, then?”

Miko shrugged. “We shall see soon enough.”

Scar kicked his horse into a trot and covered the distance to the tree. Keeping distance between him and whatever lay behind it, he circled around to the left; Potbelly went to the right.

“Hey!” he cried as he came to a sudden stop. “It’s a woman.”

“Is she okay?” Concern on his face, Miko hurried forward.

Ignoring the question, Scar dismounted and took a slow couple steps toward her. “Ma’am?”

She neither glanced his way nor indicated in any manner that she was aware of his presence; merely looked off in the distance to some faraway point. The white that Scar had seen was that of the woman’s nightgown. Her feet were bare, muddy, and bore many small scratches; a face that must have at one time been beautiful was drawn and gaunt.

Scar came to a stop several feet from her and cast a questioning glance over her head to where Potbelly still sat atop his horse. Potbelly shrugged and shook his head.

By this time, Miko had ridden to where Scar’s horse stood and dismounted. The glow of Morcyth surrounded him.

“What’s…?” Scar began but stopped when Miko waved him silent.

“Scar, Potbelly, Shorty, search the area. See if there are others,” Jiron said.

Potbelly glanced uneasily at the girl that now stood enveloped in the glow of Morcyth, then nodded.

“Don’t move out of our line of sight,” James advised. When the others glanced to him he added, “Just don’t go too far.”

“Right.” Scar returned to his horse and the three former pit fighters moved off to canvas the area.

“Is she okay, Father?”

Jiron glanced to his daughter and saw the worry in her eyes. “I don’t know, Jira. If she can be helped, your uncle is the one to do it.”

She couldn’t take her eyes from the woman. In a small voice, she said, “I hope so.”

Fathers Keller and Vickor came to stand next to Miko but remained silent so as not to disturb him. Kip joined them but looked out of place and unsure what he should do.

Everyone remained silent while the glow surrounded her. When it at last vanished, Miko turned to James and shook his head.

“There is nothing.”

“Nothing? What do you mean?”

“Her mind is gone. Some rudimentary abilities remain in place, but what made her who she was is no more.”

“Do you have any idea how this happened?” James asked.

“Magic. There is a trace of recent activity about her.”

“Maybe this happened to the rest of Tinker?”

All eyes turned to Father Vickor.

“If it happened to one,” the priest stated, “it could have happened to all. That would explain the emptiness of the town.”

James nodded.

The sound of approaching horses heralded the return of Scar and the others. A fourth horseman accompanied them. As they drew closer, Black Hawk’s emblem could be seen upon the rider’s left breast. He looked too young to be one of Illan’s original Raiders, probably one of the newer recruits.

James pulled his hood close about him to shield his identity; Jiron did likewise.

Miko ignored the riders and stepped toward the woman. He laid a hand along the side of her jaw raising her face. Lifeless orbs such as one would find on a cadaver, stared into his. He searched for any indication his earlier diagnosis could be in error. Sighing in sadness, he let go of her chin and turned to the riders.

“Reverend Father,” the rider said as he came to a stop before Miko.

Miko recognized him from a visit he paid Black Hawk a year ago.

The rider glanced to the woman. “I see you have found another.”

“Another?”

He nodded. “We’ve found them wandering throughout the hills.”

“I feared as much.”

“I’m sure Lord Black Hawk will want to confer with you about this.”

“Yes, I would like to speak with him.”

Taking the horn hanging across his breast, the rider blew two quick notes. Before the second tone faded to silence, two Raiders appeared at a quick trot.

“They will see to the woman, Reverend Father. If you will accompany me, I shall take you to Lord Black Hawk.”

Miko glanced to James who nodded. Returning his attention to the Raider, he said, “Give me but a moment.”

“As you wish, Reverend Father.”

The two Raiders came and one dismounted. He very gently lifted the woman onto his horse then swung up behind her and the three of them headed toward where the trail moved deeper into the hills.

“You do realize there is no way we can maintain our anonymity once we reach Illan’s encampment?” Turning toward his friend, James saw Jiron indicate Jira with a nod of her head. “Too many know her.”

“I knew it couldn’t last forever. Hopefully we have already bought sufficient time for us to reach our families before the enemy discovers our return and moves on them.”

“We don’t even know who this enemy is.”

“I know. But we will.”

Chapter Thirteen

Illan’s encampment lay three miles deeper within the hills at a small collection of ramshackled buildings known only as Red’s Place. A wagon trail departed Red’s Place toward a mine entrance less than a mile through the hills to the east.

Before his men’s tents came into view, other Raiders were seen coming and going. As often as not, those making their way to the encampment had vacant-eyed villagers in tow.

One Raider, a grizzled veteran who had been with Illan during the War of Barrowman’s Field, wept unashamedly as he rode with a small girl seated before him. Her eyes were similarly vacant.

A stockade of sorts had been erected off to one side near the edge of Red’s Place; scores of people were held within. Some wandered from one place to another, though the majority simply stood motionless.

“You keep them locked up?” asked Scar.

The Raider nodded. “If we don’t, they wander off and get hurt.” He glanced to Miko. “I hope you can help them, Reverend Father.”

“I shall do what I can.”

As they went around the wooden stockade, James glanced at the people within. Lifeless eyes gazed outward; mouths partially opened with drool-streaked dirty chins and necks; he seriously doubted if Miko would be able to help. Riding next to him, he could hear Jiron whisper words of comfort to his daughter. When they left the stockade behind, James was relieved.

The Raider led them to the largest building. It was situated between two smaller, single-room dwellings.

“Lord Black Hawk has set up his headquarters in the miner’s mess.” Coming to a stop, he dismounted. The others followed suit.

As they made for the door, it opened and out stepped a familiar face.

“Well, well, well; are we glad to see you.”

Tall and brown-haired, Uther gave them a grin.

Miko stepped forward and shook his hand. “Heard Illan was out this way.” He glanced to the stockade. “Didn’t realize things were this bad.”

“Bad? Man, you don’t know the half of it.”

Grinning at the use of the familiar rather than “Reverend Father,” Miko asked, “Is Illan here?”

Uther nodded. Stepping to the side, he held the door open for Miko and the others to enter.

Inside, they found the one known throughout the land as Lord Black Hawk seated at a table, deep in discussion with three of his senior Raiders. He broke off in mid-sentence upon noticing their approach. His eyes flicked first to Miko, then to those in attendance with the High Priest, lingering slightly longer on the two hooded individuals. Upon spying Jira his eyes widened in surprise then returned to the hooded man walking next to her. A barely perceptible nod followed. As he came to his feet, his gaze settled upon James.

“Your timing couldn’t be better.”

Miko stepped forward so as to interpose himself between James and Illan. “We are led where we are most needed,” the High Priest of Morcyth said, as if Illan’s remark had been directed at him.

Illan took a moment as he grasped the dynamics of the situation. When he did, he turned to his men and said, “Gentlemen, you’re excused.”

The oldest of the three Raiders was one their guests knew well. Nerun, a grizzled old-timer that had been with Illan since before Barrowman’s Field and had been with them five years earlier when James took the battle to the Empire, bore a thoughtful look. His gaze, too, went from Jira whom he knew well to the hooded men. What his thought may have been he kept to himself. He merely gave Illan a nod then led the other two Raiders from the room.

Illan turned to the Raider that had brought the newcomers. “Holbeck, see that we are not disturbed.”

Snapping to attention, Raider Holbeck saluted, turned, and left. Once the door closed, he took position just outside.

To James, Illan said, “You are the last person I thought to see in this godforsaken place.”

“Thought I was dead?” Pulling back his hood, he came forward and shook Illan’s hand.

“Not for one second. I’d have to see your lifeless corpse before I would ever believe you had been overcome. The things you did…”

“Uncle Illan!”

Jira disengaged from her father and raced forward. He clasped his arms around her, lifted her from the ground, and gave her a big hug. “How have you been, little one?”

“We’re on our way to see Mother,” she replied in excited little-girl fashion. “You’ll never believe where we’ve…”

“Jira,” Jiron said with a commanding tone. When his daughter glanced over her shoulder, he fixed her with a disapproving glare and shook his head. “Not now.”

Illan gave her a smile, then set her back on the floor.

James nodded out the window toward the stockade. “What happened to them?”

“Word came that there had been disappearances in this area. I came to investigate. They were like this when we arrived.”

“Is everyone so afflicted?”

Illan turned toward Miko and nodded. “As near as we can figure. Not one of Tinker’s inhabitants has been found otherwise.”

“We encountered one on the way in, a woman,” James explained. “Two of your men took charge of her.”

“I’ve had them combing the hills for the last two days. Everyone they find is the same. Vacant eyes and no will of their own.”

“It is their mind,” Miko said. “There is nothing.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Any idea how this came to happen?” James asked.

Illan nodded. “A creature; part man, part beast.”

“We heard of a talking beast in a village back down the road,” Jiron said as he turned to James. “Think it’s the same?”

His eyes flicked from Jiron to Illan then back before nodding. “It’s likely.”

“Well then, let’s just send out a hunting party and take it down,” Scar said.

“We tried that,” Illan replied.

James could tell there was more to the story. “What happened?”

Moving to the window, he gestured to the stockade. “Found them wandering around like the villagers a few hours later.” Intermixed among the scores of townsfolk were the unmistakable uniforms of his men.

“After that, we tracked the beast but kept our distance. Then Nerun had the idea of driving the creature into the mine and collapsing the entrance.”

Jiron nodded. “If you can’t overcome it, then contain it?”

“Exactly. We figured that once it was trapped inside, it would starve and eventually die.”

“But?”

Illan sighed. “There’s an intelligence to the beast and we lost five good men before it entered the mine. Once there, it remained just within the entrance. My men can get to within fifty feet of it, but after that, they become like the villagers.”

“You can’t get close enough to collapse the entrance unless the beast moves farther into it.”

“Yes. We’ve tried archers and slingers, but nothing seems to be able to dislodge it from the entrance.”

Face bearing confusion, Potbelly asked, “If it won’t move, shouldn’t your archers be able to kill it?”

“Arrows and bullets can’t reach the creature. They slow as they draw near, then once their momentum is lost, fall to the ground.” He glanced to James. “We think the creature is magical in some way.”

James remained silent in thought for a moment. “You said it was half man. What does it look like?”

“It walks upright as does a man, though stands head and shoulders over anyone I’ve ever known. A dark brown fur covers its entire body, except for the belly which lies exposed. For hands it has claws that curve unnaturally. But it would have to be its face that disturbs me most.

“Though overall human in appearance, the face is anything but. The nose is twice as big as yours and mine and has slits up both sides; dark eyes devoid of white stare out from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows; and extending from its lower jaw are two fangs similar to that of a wolf.”

Jira looked up to Jiron, worry in her eyes. “What is it, Father?”

Jiron merely shook his head and motioned for her to keep silent. His eyes remained on James and the concerned look that had come over him.

“Any ideas on what we’re facing?” Illan asked.

James paced back and forth, then paused at the window to gaze at those within the stockade. “I take it a creature of this sort has not been seen before?” Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Illan shake his head.

“Never.”

“In that case, either a mage of some power created it, or…”

“Or what?”

Turning from the window, he allowed his gaze to flit from face to face before saying, “Or the creature is the mage.”

Miko nodded. “Let us hope that this creature is the mage, then.”

“Why?” Kip asked.

“Because, young novice, if the creature is not the mage, then we may have a bigger problem on our hands.”

When a confused expression came to Kip’s face, Father Vickor said, “What he means is that if a mage created this, there could be more.”

James sighed. “There’s only one way to know for sure.”

“Go to the mine?”

He glanced to Jiron and nodded. “I’m afraid so.” Noting the eager look upon Scar’s face, he shook his head. “Just myself and Miko. There’s magic involved, most likely powerful. He and I are the only ones capable of defending against it.”

“Not so,” Scar argued.

Reaching into the front of his shirt, he pulled forth a silver rune-inscribed silver medallion that hung upon a silver chain. “I have a charm that will keep me safe.”

“Ever tested its power?”

“Well, no. But the man who sold it to me professed its protective properties.”

James stepped closer and placed his hand next to, but not touching, the silvery surface. He held it there for several seconds. “You were cheated, Scar.”

Looking indignant, Scar said, “You can’t feel its power until it flares to life in response to a magical attack.”

“Truly?”

Scar glanced to Miko just as a bolt of white light left the High Priest’s hand and slammed into the Pit Master’s chest. The impact knocked him back two steps.

The blow took everyone by surprise.

“What was that?” Potbelly exclaimed.

Miko grinned. “Oh, a little trick I have been working on.”

“Priest magic?” James asked.

“Something like that.” To Scar he asked, “Are you all right?”

The front of Scar’s tunic showed no sign of the attack. Rubbing his hand along the site of the impact, he looked at the High Priest and nodded. He then lifted the amulet and gazed at the runic design. “Maybe it doesn’t work with priestly magic?”

“Okay, then. My turn.” Motioning to the others to move back, James cast a grin to Jiron.

“Aren’t you worried someone may discover there is a mage here?”

“With that creature out there? It’s going to cover anything I do to Scar.” His grin faded as he turned back toward Scar. “Ready?” He could see uncertainty in the Pit Master’s eyes.

“Uh…”

“Sure he is,” Potbelly replied. “Hit him with your best shot.”

“Knock him through the wall!” hollered Shorty.

“Just remember,” Miko cautioned, “what you break, I’ll have to fix.”

James brought his arm back as if to cast a spell.

Scar’s eyes widened as the arm shot forward.

As his arm came to full extension, a small bubble formed in the air and began wafting its way forward.

“Oooooh, watch out, Scar!” exclaimed Potbelly with barely restrained mirth. “It’s going to get you.”

Laughter filled the room as the bubble reached halfway toward its victim.

Scar laughed uneasily, eyes never leaving the gently wafting bubble. When it came to within a foot, he backed away. The bubble picked up speed as if sensing Scar’s attempt to escape. When his back hit the wall, he held the amulet up in an attempt to interpose it between the bubble and himself.

As deftly as a butterfly traipsing among the thorny spines of a rosebush, the bubble darted around the medallion and shot toward Scar’s face.

The back of his head slammed against the wall’s wooden planks as he tried moving away. Eyes wide with uneasy anticipation, he braced for contact. When it struck his cheek, a very loud “raspberry” noise sounded, followed immediately afterward by a “pop.”

Scar held still for a moment as he tried to figure out just what happened to him.

“Priceless,” laughed Potbelly.

James grinned and came forward. “Don’t worry, Scar. It didn’t do anything. Just gave you a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

Touching his face, he searched for signs of damage but failed to find any.

“Well, a raspberry then.” Glancing to the others, he said, “It was a little game Kenny and I played when he was learning to walk. The bubble would float in the air while he made his way toward it. When he reached it, it would give him a kiss and he’d squeal in delight.”

Reaching out, he tapped the metal of Scar’s medallion. “You got taken, my friend.”

Stuffing the medallion back in his shirt, Scar mumbled, “Might still work.”

“No, it won’t.” To Illan he said, “Let’s go to the mine.”

A barricade of sorts had been erected along a hundred foot radius with the mine entrance at the center. Constructed of logs, stones, and the larger variety of furniture such as dressers and chairs, it formed a wall six feet high and three feet thick. The only way to pass was through a narrow, two-foot wide gap bordered by quilts soaked in lamp oil. Back a ways from the treated quilts burned a fire; a brace of torches was stacked next to it.

“It hates fire,” Illan explained when James caught wind of it and eyed him questionably. “We have the entire barricade prepared to ignite should the creature try to leave the mine.”

“Is that how you drove it into the mine?” Jiron asked. “With fire?”

Illan nodded. “My men almost burnt the forest down, but we got it in there.”

Two Raiders stood guard at the entrance and snapped to attention upon seeing their leader approach. Both were young and obviously fairly new to the uniforms they wore. An older Raider emerged from around the right side of the barricade.

“My Lord,” the Raider greeted.

“Captain Ranthus,” Illan acknowledge then glanced toward the mine. “Is it still in there?”

“Yes, sir. It went farther in an hour ago and has yet to reappear.”

“Might be looking for another way out.”

“That’s what we were thinking. I wish we had a miner to tell us if there is another exit. I’ve had the men searching but have yet to find one.”

His eyes flicked to those arriving with Illan. There was no denying the fact that he recognized Miko. A smile grew upon his face and he made to step forward to greet the high priest but his greeting remained stillborn when he spied James. Coming to a startled stop, the color drained from his face and he took a step backward.

In a quiet aside to James, Jiron quipped, “Guess he didn’t expect the Dark Mage to make an appearance.” There was a touch of amusement in his voice.

James ignored them both and made his way to the entrance. Pausing before entering the gap, he looked across a charred expanse toward the mine entrance. The shadows within were thick and concealed their secrets well.

Trees were scorched and ash covered nearly every square inch of ground between the barricade and the mine. Even outside the barricade the foliage showed evidence of their attempt to contain the creature.

Shorty shook his head. “You weren’t joking about almost burning the forest down.”

Tinok came to stand next to James. His hand rested on a knife hilt. There was an eagerness in his eye, one that James feared might drive him into doing something rash.

“Stay here with the others. If it gets past us, do what you can.”

Never looking away from the dark maw of the mine, Tinok nodded.

James could feel the prickling of his skin that always accompanied the nearness of active magic. Glancing to Miko he asked, “Are you ready?”

The light of Morcyth sprang to life around him. “Yes.”

Sending out his senses, James searched for the creature. He found it less than a hundred yards from the entrance. It was not alone.

“Something’s in there with it.”

“A miner?” Illan asked.

Concentrating on the other presence, James nodded. “I think so. The only magic is coming from the creature; tendrils connect them.”

Miko closed his eyes. “Feels like the creature is feeding off of him.”

“Him?”

The High Priest nodded. “It is a man, in his thirties. His mind is gone.”

“Might be Chellick,” Captain Ranthus suggested. “He’s unaccounted for.”

“Whoever it is,” Miko replied, “he’s growing weaker.”

James concentrated on the tendrils drawing the life from the man. “We can’t leave him in there with it.” He had thought to simply bring down the mine entrance, but now that Chellick was at the creature’s mercy, plans had to be altered.

“I agree.”

The tendrils drew a constant flow of energy from the man. If he could break the connection… Drawing on the knowledge developed while crafting spells for his crystals, he formed a barrier and severed the link.

In his mind’s eye, he could see the tendrils snap back to the creature. A god-awful roar followed and the prickling of his skin increased tenfold as a burst of magic flared from the creature. The released energy had no direction, no intelligence behind it. Slamming into the walls of the tunnel, it caused the ground to lurch.

Like a wave coursing across a still pond, the crest of disruption expanded outward. Those at the barricade had but moments to ponder the source of the roar before being tossed in the air as the ground rose and fell beneath them. The barricade fared little better, collapsing in several places.

Kip was instantly at Miko’s side, offering an arm in helping him rise.

“Thank you, Kip.”

James returned to his feet and surveyed the scene. A few Raiders suffered minor injury, but the majority escaped unscathed.

“Do something interesting again?”

Turning, he found Jiron standing behind him.

“You might say that.”

“Lord Black Hawk!”

A Raider stood at one of the newly formed gaps in the barricade. He pointed toward the mine entrance. “It’s coming out!”

“Get everyone back,” James exclaimed, then to Miko, “Let’s go.”

Now that he knew how to break the connection forged by the creature’s magic, it was simple enough to alter his shield to prevent the connection from penetrating. As soon as he and Miko emerged from the barricade, his shield was inundated with a barrage of magic.

Morcyth’s glow surrounding Miko brightened as the power of his god kept its high priest safe.

From behind, Illan’s voice thundered, “Fire it!”

James had little time to worry about the points of ignition that flared to life throughout the barricade. The creature stood at the mine entrance, its black eyes fixed upon him. The barrage of magic striking his shield intensified.

“It’s pretty powerful.”

Miko drew his sword. The blade glowed with power. “Keep it busy.” Darting to the side, he raced along the inner edge of the ignited barricade.

“Sure, no problem,” James replied as a surge of magic preceded a shifting of the ground. Losing his balance, he stumbled to the side and fell to one knee. Before he could right himself, the creature leapt.

Faster than any living creature had a right to move, it crossed the intervening space only to stop mere inches from the edge of James’ shield. It struck with both claws and James felt power being drained.

Lashing out with a blast of his own, he sent the beast reeling backward. Magic danced to his tune as stones shot from off the ground and sped to the attack. But just as the arrows and slingers’ bullets that had sought to bring the creature down before, the stones never reached it. It was as if they were met by an impenetrable cushion of air whose density increased with proximity to the creature.

By this time, Miko had managed to outflank it and was even now coming up from behind.

Again magic struck the outside of his shield; and when the creature leapt, he braced for the shifting of the ground. Instead of falling, he kept his balance and hit the beast square in the chest with another blast.

As the blow lifted it from its feet, he felt wild, magical emanations explode from the creature. Raw and undisciplined, the magic lacked focus. Though powerful, they failed to wreak any serious harm. The barricade exploded outward in one spot; James was knocked backward a step; and six separate furrows, each a foot in depth, marred the ground.

Roaring, its eyes vowed death as it leapt one more time for attack.

James saw Miko come up behind the creature. Lashing out with a final blast of magic, he again knocked it backward off its feet.

Miko’s blade struck. A blinding flash of light flared as the sword cut into the beast’s side.

A massive explosion of magic knocked James backward and blasted away a fifteen foot section of the barricade. When his eyes again were able to focus, he found the beast dead at Miko’s feet. His blade had severed its torso in half.

“Wish you could have done that when I first met you.”

Miko nodded. “Things would certainly have turned out different.”

From the other side of the barricade, Jira’s voice cried, “Is it dead?”

James glanced to Miko who nodded. “Yes. It’s safe now.”

“Father Vickor, Father Keller, attend me please.” Spying a young face peering through a gap in the burning barricade, he added, “You too, Kip.”

Morcyth’s High Priest turned and hurried toward the mine entrance and the man lying unconscious within; his priests and novice followed.

In the peace of death, the beast took on more of a human quality. James knelt next to it and examined its face. The shape of the face, eyes, and nose all said human. If not for the animal characteristics…

Footsteps behind him preceded Illan’s query, “Is it the mage?”

“Unless Miko disagrees, I would have to say it is, or was.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Probably someone who tried one spell too many and fell prey to it.”

Returning to the dead mage before him, he indicated the eyes and face. “He has the look of one from the Empire, don’t you think?”

Illan nodded. “Hard to tell, but if I had to guess, I’d say you were correct.”

James sighed and came to his feet. “I was afraid something like this might happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, five years ago they lost the School of the Arcane and most of their experienced mages. Those who are now in the early stages of magical training no longer have the benefit of all that accumulated wisdom. Mistakes are bound to occur.”

“Why don’t we see this sort of thing in Madoc?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know. It might be because Madoc doesn’t foster the belief that most people can be a mage. A core belief like that would block most anyone’s attempt to control magic. Since they believe they cannot; they cannot.”

Illan pondered that for a moment, then turned toward the mine as Miko and his priests emerged. Father Vickor had a body slung across one shoulder; Father Keller had another. The one Father Vickor carried wore the uniform of a Black Hawk Raider.

“Captain Ranthus, take charge of Chellick and the other.”

“Yes, sir.” Orders were hollered and soon, the two priests were transferring their burdens to Illan’s men.

When Miko joined them, Illan asked, “Do you think there is anything you can do for them?”

“If I had time,” he replied as he glanced to James. “But as it is, they would be better served if you brought them back to Al-Ziron and allowed the priests there to minister to them.”

Illan’s eyes flicked from Miko, to James, then back to Miko. “Captain Ranthus!”

Leaving his men to take the beast’s victims back to the encampment on their own, he returned those gathered near the creature. “Yes, sir?”

“Send two riders back to the Aerie for wagons. We’ll be taking our men and the villagers with us.” As the Captain turned to go, Illan said, “Oh, and Captain?”

“Yes?”

He nodded to the creature. “Burn it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Fourteen

Back at the encampment, they gathered in the miner’s mess where Illan had his headquarters. Riders were even then on their way to Al-Ziron for the wagons to transport those afflicted by the creature. It was everyone’s hope that the priests there would be able to restore their minds. Miko wasn’t optimistic about the outcome but kept such counsel to himself.

Illan sat at the table’s head with James on his right and Miko and Jiron on his left. A meal prepared from the miner’s stores sat before them. With them at the table were the grizzled old Raider captain, Nerun, and the slightly younger captain, Ranthus. The rest of James’ company sat at neighboring tables.

James had been circumspect in revealing their future plans while others had been within earshot. But now that the servers had been dismissed and the only ones in attendance other than those traveling with him were the two captains and Illan, he felt comfortable in divulging at least part of the story. His sojourn back to Earth he didn’t mention.

“So you do not know who it was that assaulted your island?” Nerun had been riveted on his every word throughout the telling.

“No, though since the men wore the uniforms of the Empire, we think they may have had some hand in it.”

Illan shook his head. “There has been no word of any plans to exact vengeance for the destruction dealt to the Empire. Most of the Warlords can barely hold onto what they have let alone mount a campaign of such magnitude.”

“I agree,” Captain Ranthus said. “They are far too busy killing each other.”

“Do you think it a ruse?” Jiron asked.

“Most definitely.” Captain Nerun stabbed a small tuber with his knife, ate it, then accentuated his next statement by pointing the knife at Jiron. “Everyone knows that the Empire holds no love for the Dark Mage. In fact, there’s a bounty on his head offered by no less than two factions. Anyone who wanted to eliminate him wouldn’t want to run the risk of failing then facing his retribution. Having him run amuck in the Empire, instead of going after those truly responsible, would definitely be in their best interests.”

“But who are they?”

James’ anger was palpable and the intensity of it took more than one at the table by surprise. “They come to my home, destroy much of what I had worked hard to create, put my family at risk, and…”

“I think you are asking the wrong question.”

Mouth still open as if to continue his tirade, James turned toward Tinok who sat at a table to his right with Scar, Potbelly, and the other former pit fighters.

“The question isn’t who are they, but who is he. From the tales told by Jiron and yourself detailing the attack, it seems the one you should be focusing on is the mage. Was he not leading the attack?”

“A mage of that power had to have come from somewhere,” Scar added, drawing James’ attention. Next to Scar, Potbelly nodded.

“Not from the Empire,” Illan stated. “Our spies tell us that very few remained after the war, and none of any great power. Had there been one with the power of he who attacked your island, we would have heard.”

“That’s the truth,” agreed Nerun. “If one of the Warlords had a mage of that power backing him, the rest would have been defeated long ago.”

James turned inward as he thought of the mage.

…in his mid forties as his hair was beginning to turn gray, the man was definitely from the Empire. His skin color, the build of his face, everything spoke that he was of Empire stock.

The mage wasn’t attired in a robe as had others James had dealt with in the past. Instead, the man wore common clothes, the kind you would find on the run-of-the-mill Empire citizen. Yet standing before him was one who could by no means be called run-of-the-mill.

Part of the ruse; if ruse it be? Then…

… a yellow glow emanated from the mage’s left hand. Something clutched therein… flared yellow. A visible beam shot forth… pulsating…

So focused on how the mage and men-at-arms had appeared to have been from the Empire that until now, the fact the mage had utilized a talisman of some sort had somehow eluded him. The mage had held something emitting a yellowish hue that held unimaginable power; power the likes not encountered since he wielded the Star.

He cupped his left hand and held it up. “He carried something.”

“What?”

Turning to Miko, James slowly shook his head. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, the mage drew his power from it.”

“A magic artifact?” Scar asked.

James considered it and then shrugged. “Anything is possible. Has anyone heard of a powerful object with a yellowish glow?”

Silence filled the room for several moments as eyes glanced from one to another. Finally, a small voice said, “I have.”

Turning toward Jiron’s daughter, he arched an eyebrow.

Jira nodded as she stood and strode confidently forward. “Little Tail’s Acorn.”

Grins spread across faces throughout the room and several chuckles could be heard.

Jiron came to his feet. “Jira, that is just a fable.”

Turning toward her father, her confidence waned. “But Father, Uncle asked if anyone had heard of a ‘powerful object with a yellowish glow’.”

James could see that he was the only one who failed to glean meaning from her words. “What is this Little Tail’s Acorn?”

“It’s a childish tale bards sing for children,” Jiron explained. “It was a favorite of Aleya’s when she was young, and she’s told it to Jira many times.”

“Oh, yes,” Jira exclaimed excitedly. “It’s a wonderful tale of this young squirrel named Little Tail that grows up with two evil brothers, Dramon and Tom Lee. They treated Little Tail most horribly.”

Her little face grew animated as she got into the story.

“One day while Little Tail hid in the forest after his brothers had stolen his food and driven him away, he found the Golden Acorn.

“Poor Little Tail was so hungry that he ate the Golden Acorn and was transformed into a sly fox. He then returned home and ate his brothers.”

Her grin was infectious and James couldn’t help but smile. “And the acorn glowed?”

Her little head bobbed up and down.

“So the mage was Little Tail?”

Potbelly’s question generated much laughter. James ignored it. He stepped forward and patted her on the head. “Thank you, Jira. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’re welcomed, Uncle.” Turning about, she returned to her seat.

“It is possible the mage’s artifact came from The School of the Arcane,” Nerun suggested. “Who knows what they may have had secreted away in there. Once it blew, things hidden may have been revealed.”

James nodded. “That makes sense. Once the masters were gone, their apprentices might have helped themselves to potent magical objects.”

“The one who attacked your island, after having discovered the latent magical powers of the object in his possession, went after you for the rewards being offered?” Scar proposed.

Potbelly nodded. “The men with him may have been mercenaries, and not associated with any of the Warlords.”

“Very likely.” James turned to Illan. “What do you think?”

Illan considered Nerun’s theory for a moment. “We have heard nothing of this. Had someone suddenly come into so much power as you say this object provided the mage, I would have thought our spies would have gotten wind of it. Also, we would have heard if anyone was putting out feelers for mercenaries to take you on.”

“Still, that would explain why we hadn’t heard of this object before, or the mage wielding it.”

“True,” Illan agreed.

James glanced at Jiron. “The School wouldn’t be too far out of our way.”

“Are you thinking of paying a visit and see if we can discover anything?”

“Possibly.”

“I understand your need to reunite with your wives,” Illan said. “But you must realize, the Empire remains in utter chaos. Passing through unmolested will not be easy.”

“Patrols are everywhere,” Captain Ranthus added. “All the main roads are watched, as are the areas in between. It won’t be long before they will know who it is that has entered their territory.”

“Be that as it may,” James replied, “that is where our road lies. We have business within the Empire.”

“Investigating the whereabouts of this mage?” queried Nerun.

“In part, yes. But there is another matter of slightly more importance that needs doing.”

“What is that?”

James smiled. “A task that has long been overdue.” What that task may be and how it could possibly be of more importance than discovering the identity of the one who attacked his island, he kept to himself.

“I would appreciate it if you could send word to Ollinearn, as well as Ellinwyrd in Cardri. One of them may have some idea as to the identity of those behind the attack, and might also have an idea about the yellowish object of power the mage wielded.

“Don’t bother attempting to find us in the Empire. If you learn anything, send the information to Meliana’s father in Corillian.”

Illan nodded. “I can do that. Might take some time, though. Corillian is no small distance from here.”

“I understand.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find us,” quipped Scar. “Last time we entered the Empire, we left a swath of destruction behind us a mile wide.”

“This time, we are going to slip through quietly.”

Potbelly shook his head. “We tried that once, remember?”

In the guise of caravan merchants, James and the others had first traveled to the slave markets of Korazan where they rescued Jiron’s sister from the slave block, then pushed deeper into the Empire to find Miko who had also been captured and enslaved.

Throughout the trip to Korazan, the plan went off without a hitch. After that, things had taken a turn for the worse culminating in a desperate fight and flight from the Empirical Capital, Azzac.

“Yes, I do,” James replied. “I also remember that it was a certain pair that had gotten us into most of it. I trust we will have a better appreciation for discretion this time through?”

Scar nodded, then jerked his head toward Potbelly. “I’ll make sure to keep him in line.”

“Me? Who was it that went drinking…?”

“Enough.” James waved them to silence as he turned to Illan. “We leave in the morning.”

The sound of a stool scraping across the floor heralded the rise of Miko. “In that case, my priests and I have work to do.”

Fathers Vickor and Keller stood. Father Keller glanced to their young novice. “You too, Kip.”

Engrossed in a game of Bones and Daggers, one which he was on the verge of losing, Kip failed to notice. A sudden quick blow to his shin from a well-placed, beneath-the-table kick from Jira brought him back to the here and now.

Giving her a grimace, he followed her nod and saw his superiors staring at him. “What?”

Miko broke into a half-grin. “Come, Kip. There are people who need attending.” As his apprentice hopped to his feet, he said to Illan, “We shall do what we can before departing.”

“Any help would be most appreciated.”

Nodding, Miko led his priests and novice from the room.

Once they were gone, James retook his seat, turned to Illan and said, “Now, what can we expect once we pass into the Empire.”

Throughout the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, they discussed patrol patterns, the political climate, and a myriad other points needful for those seeking to slip through unnoticed. A map was produced marked with the boundaries for each of the Warlords. Illan made it clear that these lines were impermanent and were but rough estimates.

The intelligence was most detailed in the area north of Korazan. After that, it was spotty at best. They worked out an initial route. Once they left Tinker, they would move south-west toward Zereth-Alin. South from there would take them to Tears of the Empress, a sizable lake on whose eastern shore laid Korazan. James planned to skirt the western shore and avoid coming anywhere near the slave markets. Too many chances of being spotted. Memories of what he did there still ran deep. Once across the river they would at that time determine the best way to proceed.

Miko spent a sleepless night with the mindless victims of the mage-turned-creature. Despite his best efforts, by the time the sun rose over the horizon he had come no closer in restoring them to their former selves.

“This is not my task.” That was his answer when James queried him about his ineffectualness. “Had Morcyth wished me to be the bringer of their restoration, they would have been restored.”

“Why wouldn’t Morcyth want you to heal them?”

Shrugging, Miko replied, “I do not know. Maybe they are beyond even Morcyth’s reach. Or maybe he does not care.” James’ frown prompted him to elaborate.

“Each god has a purpose to which they strive. Morcyth is not a healing god though we, his priests, can heal. His mandate is more that of a teacher.”

James’ frown remained as he glanced to the vacant-eyed villagers around them. “Couldn’t he teach you how to cure them?”

“Most likely. But he has not and we must accept his will. Gods do not obey the wishes of men. Not even those of their High Priests.”

“Then what good are they?”

Turning, they found Tinok staring at them from astride his horse.

“The gods hold the balance of the universe in their hands. Woe to us should the gods depart.”

“I doubt that.”

About that time, Jira came running up to James. “Are we ready to go see Mother?”

“It’s still a long road ahead?”

“I know.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw her father riding toward them. “It’s exciting.” Darting forward, she took three steps and leapt. Jiron extended his hand, Jira grabbed it and was plopped before him on the horse. She turned to him and hollered, “Come on, Uncle. Let’s go.”

James grinned as he and Miko crossed to their horses and mounted.

Illan was there to see them off; as were Nerun and Captain Ranthus. “You shouldn’t have any problems for the first day or so. After that, be wary of anyone you meet.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Shorty said. “Everyone should be wary of us.”

The group setting off from Red’s Place that morning was about as deadly a bunch as one could every hope to bring together: First there was The Dark Mage; a High Priest who happened to be one of the most deadliest sword fighters around; and a bevy of ex-pit fighters that would love nothing better than to enter a fight, each a deadly foe in their own right. James felt fairly confident that there was little his group couldn’t handle.

Illan grinned. “You may be right. But be careful anyway.” He came and extended his hand.

James took it and said, “We will.”

“Bye, Uncle Illan.”

“Tell your mother I said ‘hi’.”

Jira bobbed her head. “I will.”

Scar and Potbelly once again took point as their group headed out from the ramshackled collection of buildings. At Tinker, they encountered a group of Raiders with another six villagers in tow on their way to the stockade.

“Hope they find them all, Father,”

Jiron gave her a hug. “So do I, Jira.”

From Tinker, they followed the same trail as they had on the way in. Once they hit the main road, they turned to the right and began the two day ride to Zereth-Alin.

As Illan predicted, the first day remained uneventful and they made good time. The second day proved just as lacking in hindrances. Twice they saw patrols off in the distance, but none bothered to come and investigate. When the skyline of Zereth-Alin came into view the sun hung low in the sky.

Illan had indicated that their group would be well advised to not only give the town a wide berth, but to head cross-country from this point.

“You run a greater risk of encountering a patrol after reaching Zereth-Alin. Once past, stay east of the road until reaching Tears of the Goddess.”

As supplies were not yet an issue, they cut cross-country through farms and fields. A few farmers turned to gaze at the group passing before returning to their toils. The sun was all but set by the time Zereth-Alin faded from view in the growing dusk.

They continued on until all vestiges of daylight were banished and stars reigned supreme. After making camp, a watch was scheduled that included everyone but James and Miko; James because he was in charge, and Miko due to being a High Priest. The one-time street kid didn’t mind the arrangement at all.

While the adults talked among themselves, Jira and Kip settled in for a game of Bones and Daggers. She was growing ever more proficient at the game, a situation that did not sit well with the young novice.

In the beginning, his wins came easily. Now though, he had to work much harder for every victory; victories that were no longer certain.

Once the board was set, Jira grinned that mischievous grin of hers and asked, “Six?”

Kip shook his head. “Three.”

“Okay.”

The last time game they played where Long Daggers could capture and retain six pieces, Jira had trounced him unmercilessly. He still felt the shame of that loss. After all, he was nearly a young man, and she but a child of five!

In a regular game, whenever a Dagger captures either a Bone or an opponent’s Dagger, the piece is placed beneath it and the Dagger becomes a Long Dagger. With each succeeding piece placed beneath, it gains one additional move. At six, Jira could move nearly halfway across the board, readily penetrated his defenses and snatched his own Long Daggers out from under him. He vowed never again to play a game beyond the normal three.

“Going to beat her this time, Kip?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Shorty approaching.

“Of course.”

“Hmmmm.” As he came and sat before the board between them, he turned to Jira, “What do you think?”

She giggled and shook her head. “As Uncle would say, ‘He’s toast.’”

Shorty grinned. “That he would, Little One.”

Kip glanced between them, grimaced and moved the first piece.

“See,” Jira said as she slid a Dagger forward. “He always starts with the same piece.”

“You better watch yourself, boy. When a woman learns your ways, you’re in trouble.” He winked at Jira who giggled.

Kip nodded, smiled half-heartedly, and kept focused on the board. A second piece moved forward to join the first.

One of Jira’s Daggers moved into position and Kip discovered he could capture it. “Aha!” he exclaimed and moved his own Dagger to take it. Now he had a Long Dagger able to move two spaces. He met her gaze and smiled most satisfactorily. From where his Long Dagger sat, he had a good portion of her pieces pinned in place. For her to move any of them would enable him to strike.

She moved a piece forward along the edge of the board. Thrice more they alternated moving pieces. When it came her turn again, she gave him a worried look then pushed a piece forward that put it within two spaces to the right of his Long Dagger.

A grin spread across his face as a two-move Long Dagger struck. Now his piece could move three spaces. At three, it was now the mightiest piece on the board.

But, since his Long Dagger now sat on the right side of the board, pieces on the left were vulnerable. One of Jira’s Daggers struck and took one. He moved his Long Dagger to the left, but failed to reach her piece before it took a second.

“You’re in trouble, boy.”

Kip ignored him. Her Long Dagger was now equal to his. He could no longer get within striking distance without putting his own piece at risk. Indecision turned to recklessness. Moving a piece to threaten hers, he lost another which gave her a second Long Dagger.

As he sought to pin her Long Daggers down, her smaller, single-move Daggers snatched his out from under him which turned them into Longs. Oh sure, he took a few of hers, but she laid waste to his pieces until he had no choice but to capitulate.

Shorty laughed and clapped Jira on her back. “You are your father’s daughter.”

Kip glowered at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Son, you don’t rise to become one of the best knifers in the world without understanding strategy.” He pulled one of his knives from the brace around his chest. “Against a sword, this isn’t much of a defense. You have to think ahead and plan your moves…” thrusting the blade toward Kip, he halted it less than an inch away from his heart, “or you’re dead.”

He nodded toward Jira. “She does that.”

“And I don’t?”

Gesturing to the scene of his latest defeat, Shorty asked, “What do you think?”

Jira’s grin faded as she grew to understand how Kip’s mood was turning sour. “I like playing with you.”

“What you need to do, is not be so predictable. If you play with someone long enough and always use the same strategies, eventually they’re going to catch on. Like Jira has with you. Try new ways to win. It might work. Or, it might not.”

“But she’s only five!”

Shorty laughed. “What does age have to do with it?” Turning, he flung his knife and skewered the apple right out of Potbelly’s hand as he was about to take a bite? “I could do that before I could walk.”

Kip doubted that, but left such sentiment unsaid.

Getting to his feet, Shorty went over to retrieve his knife and mollify an indignant Potbelly.

The young novice watched him go until Jira asked, “Another game?”

Meeting her hopeful look, he nodded. “This time, things will be different.”

She giggled and began resetting the pieces.

The next two games he concentrated less on what he was doing, and more on her moves; he lost badly. By the third, he began to understand how she thought and tried predicting her reactions to his and managed to lose only by a small margin. The fourth game he maneuvered her three-move Long Dagger into a trap and this time won.

Two eyes watched Potbelly’s silhouette as it moved just beyond the campfire’s reach. It was a quiet night; stars filled the sky and off in the distance came the cries of nocturnal predators. Completely unaware that his movements were under surveillance, the Pit Master moved a little farther from his sleeping comrades and sat upon a nearby fallen tree.

The owner of the eyes kept still until certain he planned to remain where he was, then crept from hiding. The small form snuck stealthily through the camp; its gaze never once leaving Potbelly. When the Pit Master shifted position upon the trunk, it hit the ground and froze.

A snore from two feet away broke the stillness of the night. Had Father Vickor been awake, the priest would assuredly have seen the diminutive person that attempted to avoid detection.

Picking itself up, it hurried through the camp toward where the horses were picketed and the supplies kept. It took only moments once it arrived at the packs, small hands searched and found the store of apples. Taking two, it glanced to ensure Potbelly’s attention was still focused in another direction, then raced quietly for the night.

Fifty feet from the camp, it came to a halt. A knife glittered in the moonlight as an apple slice was removed. With stars as the only witness, it set the slice upon the ground, took two steps back and sat. Legs crossed, it hummed a soothing tune and waited.

Time passed; its head swiveled periodically to glance back at the camp to see if its nocturnal activities had been discovered. Finally, motion appeared out of the night. A hand, smaller than the one that had stolen the apple, snatched the slice from where it laid upon the ground.

Even in the scant light from the stars above, the crescent shaped patch around its left eye was unmistakable. It was the same as had come in Uncle Miko’s temple.

Jira kept still as the Little Brother ate the apple slice. When the sound of its chewing ceased, she cut another. This time, she held it out upon her upturned palm. Would it take it? Resuming the soothing melody, she waited.

By small, hesitant steps it drew nearer.

Her arm grew cramped from been extended for such a prolonged period of time, but she feared that shifting to a more comfortable position would ruin what she hoped to accomplish. Come on, Little Brother. It’s okay.

When it snatched the apple slice out of her hand, she fought the squeal of delight that threatened to burst forth. Though only a barely-heard gurgle escaped, it was enough to startle the earth spirit and she was once again alone in the dark.

Inside she was jumping up and down with joy. Removing another slice from the apple, she laid it upon her palm, extended her arm, and waited.

Chapter Fifteen

Moving about in daylight was risky to say the least. At the slightest indication they might encounter someone, be it a farmer or patrol, they would press farther into the scrub-brushed landscape.

There were few farms that needed navigating around. In some, farmers toiled in their fields while others remained vacant. It was while they skirted an abandoned-looking building set off in the distance amidst a sparse collection of scraggly looking trees that James brought his horse to a sudden stop.

“Magic.”

“Where?” Jiron came next to him while scanning the surrounding countryside.

The rest converged on them as they, too, sought the source of what James felt.

He pointed toward the lone building. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think over there.”

After a moment’s scrutiny, Jiron said, “I don’t see anything.”

“Neither do I,” added Potbelly.

“Irregardless, there is magic coming from over there.” James glanced to Miko for confirmation and received a nod.

“I feel it too. It is only present for a moment before disappearing, only to reappear again.”

While keeping his gaze pinioned on the building, Scar asked, “Should we investigate?”

“My first impulse is to say no. But then I think about what we had to deal with back at the mine.”

“It’s another stupid mage?” By stupid, of course, Jira referred to a mage who didn’t know what he was doing.

James glanced to her and chuckled. “Stupid or otherwise, it’s definitely a mage.”

The intermittent pricklings continued and grew annoying. Then when a sustained one struck, he turned to Jiron. “Let’s check it out.”

“All of us?” Scar asked.

“Yes, but let Miko and me lead the way.”

The Pit Master gave a nod. “Not a problem.”

“What’s the matter, Scar?” Potbelly asked. “You’ve got that protective medallion.”

As more than one took humor at Scar’s expense, he took a swing at Potbelly only to miss by a solid foot; which only fueled their laughter.

James eyed the pair. “Enough.” Nudging his horse into motion, he turned it toward the building and broke into a canter. Miko fell in beside him.

The building turned out to be the remnants of a barn; most of it having collapsed some time ago. Of the farmhouse, there was nothing. No chimney, nor any other evidence that would indicate where it had been.

As James approached, he heard Miko say, “Odd.” Motioning for him to remain silent, James nodded to the barn and mouthed, In there.

The side facing them spanned fifteen feet, hardly more than a fourth of its original size. James reached the side, and as he moved to look through a gap, heard the unmistakable mooing of a cow.

Surprised, but not deterred, he peered through and saw a brown and white bull with an impressive pair of horns staring back. The micro pulses of prickling resumed once again, indicating magic was still being performed nearby.

A quick scan failed to reveal the source of the magic. Moving along the side of the barn, he reached where it had collapsed and peered around to the inside. Again, all he found was the cow. His attention then went to the opposite side of the barn. Less than ten feet of it remained intact, but it was of sufficient size to conceal the presence of a mage.

James pantomimed for Miko to go around the other side while he crossed the interior so they could come at it from either side. When Miko nodded and headed off in a quick, but silent pace, James eyed the bull warily.

It stood between him and where the mage had to be hiding. Hoping that the bull would not take exception to being disturbed, James eased past the edge of the wall and entered the barn’s interior. Other than eyeing him curiously, the bull failed to react.

“Easy, boy,” he said ever so quietly.

Taking each step so as not to startle the bull, he crossed to the far side. By the time he arrived, the bull had resumed eating the short grass that had sprouted at this end of the barn. Figuring Miko to have already gone around the barn and would be at the other end by now, he made ready to summon the magic at the merest hint of attack and then peered around the corner. The space was empty. There was no mage, yet the intermittent prickling persisted.

Miko peered around the far side of the barn and upon seeing James, came forward. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Where is the mage?”

James shrugged. “I don’t know.”

With little in the way of trees or large areas of standing brush to hide behind, any mage in the vicinity should have been readily detected. And other than the continued micro-pulses of tickling, James would be hard pressed to believe that anyone, let alone a mage, was even in the area.

Invisible?

He gave such a thought little credence. For one thing, if a mage were using magic to cloak his whereabouts, the prickling would remain constant. The fact that the pulses were intermittent seemed to indicate the magic was not continual. Therefore, no invisible mage. So where was it coming from?

A barely heard zapping reminiscent of static electricity intruded upon James’ inner contemplation. Glancing around, he asked, “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“Something…”

Zap!

“There!”

Miko nodded. “I heard it too. I think,” he said as he turned toward the barn, “it came from within the barn.”

James stepped back within what remained of the interior and was greeted with a curious, bovine stare.

“There’s nothing…”

Before the statement could be finished, a spark ignited upon the upper rear portion of the bull, not far from the tail. With his senses no longer concentrating on locating a mage, he caught a whiff of char in the air.

“No way.”

James stared with complete disbelief. From tail to ears, the bulls hide showed an array of diminutive, charred sections of burnt hair.

Miko followed his gaze just as a fly landed.

Zap!

A spark and the fly were no more.

Turning an incredulous look upon James, Miko asked, “Are you telling me that the cow is the mage?”

Not answering right away, James gathered the magic to him and sent his senses forward to investigate. Everything about the bull appeared normal, until another circling fly landed on its shoulder.

Zap!

“It’s the cow.”

“But how?”

James shrugged. “Magic is in everything. Somehow, the limited intelligence this cow possesses has managed to work it.” A thoughtful look came over him. “Unless, it was not always as it is now.”

“You mean this cow could once have been a mage?”

“After what we encountered at the mine…?”

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see Jiron with knife in hand step into the barn.

“Any sign of the mage?”

Miko grinned as James nodded and pointed to the cow. “There he is.”

Jiron laughed, then realized the pair was serious. “The cow?”

“Apparently,” James replied.

“It has been zapping flies,” Miko explained.

Still unsure as to whether or not he continued being the butt of a joke, Jiron stared skeptically at the bull. “That’s a mage, huh?” Seconds ticked by and he was about to call them on their joke when a flash ended the life of yet another annoying insect.

“If I hadn’t seen it, I would never have believed it.”

Seemingly unconcerned with the nearby trio of humans, the bull resumed his meal of grass.

James indicated with a nod for them to leave the barn. “Have you ever heard of an animal that could do magic?”

Miko shook his head while Jiron replied, “Never.”

Coming from the barn, James waved for the others to approach and filled them in on what had been found.

Scar got a gleam in his eye, looked within the barn then turned to James. “What are you planning to do?”

“Do?”

He jerked his head toward the barn. “About the bull.”

“Going to kill it?” Potbelly asked. The sidelong glance he cast to Scar said he hoped that the bull would be spared.

To Miko. James asked, “What do you think?”

“I see no reason why the bull must be destroyed. It is benign and unlikely to progress any further with its magical abilities.”

“Do we know that for sure?”

Miko shook his head. “No.”

Jira stepped forward. “You can’t kill it!”

“It’s an aberration,” Tinok interjected. “What if other animals learned from it? Things could get dicey.”

Father Keller laughed. “It’s a cow,” he stated as if such a thought was utter idiocy.

“Bull, actually,” Miko corrected.

Tinok scowled at the priest. “Think on this. It destroys the flies because they annoy it. What happens if an unwitting farmer, or child, annoys it? Will it be able to make the distinction between a human and a fly? Or will it do the same to whatever bothers it?”

Jiron glanced to James. “He does have a point.”

“Yes. I hadn’t considered that.” Sighing, he turned toward the barn. “Let us see what it does when it gets bothered.” As he stepped forward, he said to the others, “Better stay back.”

He re-entered the barn. The bull lifted its head from where it had been grazing. Their eyes locked.

The shimmering of his shield sprang into being as he moved toward the beast. Actually, he felt rather silly worrying about the possibility of a magical contest with a bull. After all, like Father Keller had said, it was just a cow. The shield was in place more for the likelihood of the bull charging than anything else.

“Hey, boy,” he said in a calm voice as he drew nearer.

The bull’s head lowered and his right front hoof dug into the dirt.

James paused to see if it would charge, then angled to move around the bull and come at its hindquarters.

A snort, another pawing, but the bull remained stoic. Its head followed his movements.

Now within reach, James raised his arm then brought the flat of his hand down hard…

Zap!

Though he was prepared, the blast of magic from the bull was far stronger than anticipated. The smell of ozone filled the air and he knew that had his shield not been in place, he would be one toasty critter.

“Tinok was right,” he muttered at the bovine countenance, “we can’t leave you alive.” Sadness came over him as he knew what he had to do.

Bending over, he picked a stone from off the ground…

James glanced sadly at Jiron as he exited the barn.

“Is it over?”

“Yes.” Then his eyes went to Jira and he felt even worse for she knew the truth.

Potbelly went to the side of the barn and glanced within. There he saw the aftereffects of one of James’ magically-propelled stones and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the cow no longer lived.

“Pity.”

“It is,” James agreed.

“How could such a thing come about?” Father Vickor questioned.

“Magic is in everything around us. All it takes is a focused mind and the strength to bend it to your will for anyone to make magic work.”

Father Vickor failed to look convinced.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have thought a cow had sufficient intelligence to work magic.”

“Apparently, they do.”

James glanced to Jiron and nodded. “Apparently so. Though its magic was rudimentary and raw, it was still effective for what it wanted to do.”

“Such as zapping flies?” Scar asked.

“If I was a cow, that’s how I would use magic,” replied Potbelly.

His friend turned to him and grinned. “Flies do like to hang around you.”

As chuckles sprang forth from more than one source, Jiron asked, “Think there could be others?”

“I doubt it,” James replied. “Since no one has ever heard of this before…” his gaze went from one to another, each time receiving a shake of the head or a “no.”

“Then I think this was a one in a million occurrence.”

When his gaze settled upon Scar, he noticed that the Pit Master’s expression had turned thoughtful.

“Do you think a cow could be taught to do magic?”

“I don’t think that’s...,” began James

“People would come from all around to see a cow that could do magic,” Potbelly added. The gleam in his eye matched that of his partner.

“That would be incredibly dangerous and foolish,” Miko warned.

“Not for us,” Potbelly assured. “We’d hire someone to take care of it.”

“Might have to build a separate Pit just for the cow.”

Potbelly nodded. “Why should we limit ourselves to just a cow? Surely there must be other, more intelligent animals that could be taught to wield magic.”

“No!”

Every eye turned to James. “I absolutely forbid it. You’d be opening a Pandora’s Box that might never be closed.”

“But, we’d be careful,” Scar argued.

“I’ll lay waste to the Pits before I allow such a venture to prosper.”

Such was the conviction filling James’ voice that the Pit Master was taken aback. He’d known The Dark Mage for many a year and had rarely heard that tone in his voice. But when he had, James meant business.

“It was but a thought,” Potbelly replied.

James eyed the pair with all the authority he could muster. “See that it remains so.” Then to Jiron he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

As they mounted and prepared to continue their journey, a small voice asked, “Who’s Pandora?”

They managed to avoid detection for two days. On the third, they spied riders off to the west and despite their best efforts, were unable to escape undetected. When it became clear that the patrol meant to intercept, they came to a halt.

“Should we make a run for it?” Scar asked.

James eyed the approaching riders and counted twenty in all. He then cast his glance about the desolate and barren countryside. “No. We’ll deal with this here.” Seeing the gleam in more eyes than that of Tinok, he announced, “We are not attacking.”

Tinok’s expression turned sour. “Why not?”

“That is not why we are here. If we can get through this without killing them, we will.”

Jiron nodded. “No point in drawing more attention to ourselves than we must. A lost patrol would not go unnoticed.”

“But what if they attack?” Shorty asked.

James eyed the advancing patrol once more and sighed. Such an outcome was assuredly possible. “That would prove unfortunate…for them.” He then turned to Scar. “Say and do nothing to provoke them.”

“Who, me?” Scar was innocence personified.

“Don’t worry,” Potbelly said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

A derisive snort was immediately followed by Father Keller mumbling, “That’ll be the day.”

As the thundering of the riders grew in volume, James said, “We are on our way to investigate trade possibilities with merchants in various cities beginning with Korazan, nothing more. Short of being taken prisoner or being forced to endure an escort, go along with whatever they say.”

Scar nodded. “As you wish.”

With Potbelly at his side, he moved several feet forward to wait for the riders. Over half had crossbows slung across their backs, the rest bore swords. The insignia emblazoned upon their left breasts was that of twin swords crossed within a red circle.

“They’re Kazan’s men,” Miko announced.

Warlord Kazan holds all lands north of the Tears of the Empress, west to the mountains and east to the Kirkens. His raiding parties are made up of cutthroats, murderers; basically the dregs of society. Unfortunately, he’s recruited enough of them to hold off the other Warlords, so far.

Illan’s words replayed through James’ mind as Jiron said, “We’re not going to avoid bloodshed.”

“We may yet.”

James didn’t believe the words even as he uttered them. Intelligence reports indicated that Kazan’s men preyed as much upon their own people as they did those of the other Warlords abutting their territory. Caravans were about the only ones free from molestation. Without them, Kazan’s economy would utterly fail.

Tinok dismounted and came to stand where Scar and Potbelly waited. Scar glanced down to him, nodded, then returned his attention back to the approaching riders. He laid a hand upon his sword hilt.

As the riders approached, four moved toward Scar, Potbelly and Tinok while the others fanned out into a semi-circle. Three of the four wore uniforms similar to the others, the fourth sported a dark helm with a silver plume; a rare affectation among Empire soldiery. This had to be the leader. The leader and his escort stopped within speaking distance.

“Have you lost your way, travelers?”

“No,” Scar replied. “Merely avoiding the hustle and bustle of the main road.”

A wry grin coming to his lips, the leader said, “What is your business in the Realm of the Warlord Kazan?”

“Our business lies some distance south of the great Warlord’s domain,” Scar explained. “We are but passing through.”

“Ah. Then I must inform you that his Greatness has decreed that all travelers must pay a tax for passing through his territory.”

“A tax?”

The leader nodded.

“How much?”

“Everything you have.”

“Everything? Even my small clothes?” quipped Scar.

The grin faded from the leader’s face. “Trifle not with us, stranger. It’s everything, or your lives.” A quick upturn of his arm and as one, the crossbowmen had crossbows in hand and aimed at James and the rest.

His eyes roamed to where Jira sat with Jiron. “And to pay for your insolence, we will have the girl, too.”

James didn’t take the time to look at Jiron’s reaction to that statement, but knew that his friend would now settle for nothing less than the leader’s death for such a decree. Keeping his hood close about him, he reached into his tunic, pulled forth his coin purse and moved forward.

“I have fifty golds here. They’re yours if you let us go. No one need die this day.”

Laughing, the leader turned to the hooded James. “Why take fifty when we can have it all?”

“You take this fifty, and we will not kill you.”

“Boastful talk for someone who is outnumbered two to one. Now, either get down from your horses and divest yourselves of all your possessions, or we’ll take them from your lifeless bodies.”

Calling magic to him, James concentrated it upon the cocked strings of each of the ten crossbows. “Shorty,” James said in a quiet aside, “make sure none escape.”

“Will do,” came the reply.

“The leader’s mine.” There was no mistaking the death sentence in Jiron’s voice.

Realizing they were not going to docilely obey, the leader hollered, “Kill them.”

James unleashed the magic.

Ten explosions shattered crossbows, killing eight men outright while leaving the other two handless and knocked from their horses as the animals panicked. Chaos erupted as soldiers, startled by the unexpected turn of events, found themselves under attack.

Before the battle could be joined, two of the remaining ten soldiers fell to Shorty’s knives; a third knife embedded itself in a soldier’s back as he made to flee.

Jiron was death incarnate as he flew across the battlefield toward the one who had dared threaten his daughter. Having left Jira upon the horse, he had leapt from its back when the crossbows exploded and was even now closing upon the leader who fought to bring his frightened horse under control.

The leader became aware of the danger when pain erupted in his left thigh as one of Jiron’s knives sank in to the hilt. His cry of pain was cut short when the other knife entered his side between the second and third rib, driving inward toward the heart.

So enraged was Jiron that he lifted the man out of the saddle, and with his knives still deeply embedded, flung the leader to the ground.

“Jiron!”

Scar’s cry saved his life. Spying the blade coming for him, Jiron had just enough time to dodge backward, a maneuver forcing him to abandon his knives. As the soldier advanced to finish him off, Potbelly arrived and cut the man to pieces.

Miko made short work of his opponent, as did the one double-teamed by Father’s Vickor and Keller. Scar dropped his and the last fell to another of Shorty’s knives.

The battle had lasted all of one minute.

“Anyone hurt?”

Scar cast a grin to James and shook his head. “These guys were amateurs.”

“You’ve got that right,” agreed Potbelly. “My old granther on his deathbed could have bled the lot of ‘em.”

James cast his gaze across the horizon. Nothing moved. “We better get out of here before someone comes looking.”

Jiron nodded.

Shorty stared thoughtfully at a dead soldier and asked, “Should we take their uniforms?” He turned and glanced to James. “Might be able to fake our way through.”

James shook his head. “Wouldn’t do us any good once past the Tears of the Empress. We’ll be in Cytok’s territory and from what Illan said, soldiers of one Warlord are not welcomed in the lands of another.”

They waited just long enough for Potbelly to scavenge coins and other valuables from the dead, and for Shorty to retrieve his knives. After that, they headed south with all speed.

Chapter Sixteen

Late the following afternoon, movement was once again detected off to the south. This time however, it wasn’t a patrol out looking for ne’er-do-wells or an easy mark. A caravan consisting of over two-score wagons traveled slowly across the horizon. Accompanying riders rode throughout the long column.

An oasis, long devoid of its life-giving water and filled with decaying remnants of its former glory, gave scant shelter to James and the rest as they considered their next course of action.

Jiron gazed at the caravan. “It must be headed for Korazan.”

“Possibly,” agreed Scar. “They’ll have to take the road out of Akai if they are.”

Akai was a small town nestled along the northern shore of the great desert lake known as the Tears of the Empress. There, the road from Zereth-Alin split, sending spurs along the lake’s eastern and western shores. James planned staying to the west in order to avoid Korazan. He had done much damage to that city and freed a good portion of its slaves during the war. They would not have forgotten him.

“There are far too many eyes upon the road for us to slip through unnoticed.” Turning to James, Jiron gestured so as to encompass everyone. “Word will spread of a band of northerners coming out of the desert and heading south. Someone’s bound to come looking.”

James nodded.

Once past Akai, they would be in lands Lord Cytok considered his. Though the area abutting the Tears of the Empress was contested by the northern warlord, Kazan, Illan’s spy network knew it to be token at best and that Warlord Kazan held no great sway beyond Akai. Soldiers of both sides patrolled that area and clashes between them were common. Word had it that mages rode with several of Lord Cytok’s border patrols. Illan’s informants had been unable to determine their skill and power. Though any mage, even one of meager ability, would shift the balance of power in any engagement.

“We shall remain here until nightfall, then cross under cover of darkness.”

Scar flashed an irritated look.

“You disagree?” James asked.

Glancing first to Potbelly then to Tinok and Shorty, Scar’s gaze finally returned to James. “Yes. What do we care if anyone sees us? We should forge straight through; and woe to anyone so foolish as to try and stop us.”

“So, you want us to leave a trail of blood from here all the way to Corillian?” the look of disgust on his face was clear.

“Such a move would put those with whom we wish to reunite in terrible danger,” Jiron argued.

Potbelly laughed. “What? Do you think anyone could ride faster than us? We’d beat anyone there.”

Jiron turned on him. “Have you forgotten those portals within Dmon-Li’s temples?”

He didn’t look convinced. “They were all destroyed.”

“We do not know that,” Miko said. “The Dark God yet retains a presence upon this world.”

“And until we know who was behind the attack on my island, I will not tip my hand prematurely. They believe me gone, or dead. Until I stand in the presence of Meliana and Kenny, we will take every precaution where their safety is concerned.

“We do not know why those who attacked did not take them. They could very well have been allowed to escape in the hopes that should I return, I will seek them out.”

Rounding on Scar, he added, “The last thing we need is a line of carnage pointing straight to them. Understood?”

Scar nodded. “Understood.”

“Good.”

Stalking away, James caught Jiron’s nod of approval. His friend moved to join him.

“Our road ahead will be difficult enough without the entire countryside raised against us.”

James shook his head then sat upon a fallen tree.

Jiron came to stand next to him then glanced back at the others. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

“I’ve half a mind to send them home.”

“That would not be wise.” Returning his gaze to his friend, he could see that it was more frustration and worry over loved ones than any real desire to rid himself of Scar and Potbelly that had prompted him to make such a declaration.

Sighing, James nodded. “I know. It’s just that there are too many unknowns about what is going on.”

“Do you truly believe that Meliana and Kenny are being watched?”

“It’s what I would do were I them. And until I learn the truth, I dare not take the risk that they are not.”

Off a bit where the others gathered, Potbelly could be seen regaling a rapt Kip and Jira, along with several amused priests and pit fighters, with a tale most likely comprised of exploits far beyond the realm of believability.

“A couple hours until nightfall,” Jiron said. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

“I doubt if sleep will come; too much on my mind.”

Catching sight of his daughter’s wave to come join her, Jiron waved back. “Well, see if you can. We’ve still a long way to go.” Moving off, he made his way over to Jira and sat next to her whereupon she promptly crawled into his lap.

James smiled a sad smile. If only Kenny were here to do the same. How he missed his family. Leaving the others to play audience to Potbelly, he remained where he was and allowed his mind to wander the many roads of wondrous, bygone days.

With naught but a sliver of moon overhead, it was difficult in the extreme to determine if travelers were about. Scar and Potbelly took the lead as they departed the dry oasis and headed for the road.

It was unlikely for anyone to be traveling at this late hour. Throughout the deepening dusk, traffic had become increasingly sparse. During the final hour before light faded altogether, only the silhouette of a lone horseman appeared.

Other than the sound of hooves on dirt, the night was quiet. Not even a breeze disturbed the calm. Making the road without incident, they hurried across and then rode long into the sheltering darkness. By the time they halted for the night, miles of barren countryside separated them from the road to Akai.

A fire was out of the question. It would be a beacon announcing their presence to anyone nearby. They dared not risk it. Shorty pulled first watch and while the others laid out blankets and prepared to sleep, he listened to the night.

Nocturnal creatures both aerial and those that scurried upon the ground went about their regular routines. Those that flew hunted, those upon the ground darted and hid; the sounds they made reassured the knifer that others were not in the area. Animals tended to be quiet and still when men were about.

As he worked out a circuitous route that would circumnavigate the sleepers, he couldn’t help but chuckle as Scar and Potbelly grumbled to each other. He knew they were the best of friends, each willing to lay down his life for the other, but if one didn’t know them they would wonder at such a thought. Sometimes they bickered like an old married couple.

It was good to be back doing something again. Working at the Pits for Scar and Potbelly wasn’t as exciting as traveling with James. Things always seemed to get dicey when he was about. Already, they’ve had to make a quick escape back at Al-Ziron, take out a patrol, and here they were sneaking through a land that should the powers-that-be realize they were there, would spare no expense to see them destroyed. Yes, it was good to be on the road with The Dark Mage.

He still hadn’t figured out why Scar and Potbelly had insisted on coming along when Tinok let slip his plans to accompany James and Jiron. Sure, they liked adventure as much as the next, but they enjoyed managing the Pits more. It brought in coins daily and they didn’t have to do anything other than allow strangers, and some not-so-strangers, to risk their lives.

Time passed as he completed circuit after circuit; keeping on the move helped ward off the onset of sleep. Every once in a while, he would pause and keep silent as he stood motionless in order to listen to the night. When nightly sounds continued unabated, he would resume his trek.

Snores and sleep-mumblings gradually rose to form an undertone to the night. Other than Shorty, one other had yet to succumb to the siren that draws one to the realm of sleep.

Jira watched Shorty’s silhouette move in the partial moonlight. She waited until the others were fast asleep, and he was on the far side of camp before slipping from beneath her covers. In her hand she held an apple, a tasty tidbit to entice her Little Brother to show himself.

She thought of the earth spirit with the dark patch shaped like a crescent moon around the outer edge of its left eye as hers. She felt there was a bond between them, like it was her friend. Why else would it return time and again?

It had been several days since she had been able to sneak away from the others. The adults seemed to think that she couldn’t take care of herself in the dark by herself. But she could! Maybe when she was a little girl of four she couldn’t, but now she was five, nearly six and no longer a baby that needed watching. But her father and the others didn’t seem to realize that. And so she waited until the others fell asleep and Shorty was the farthest away his trek would take him before she left her bedroll.

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.

Shorty turned about and headed back to the others while Jiron waited for Tinok to recover his horse. The horse of the soldier limped off to the side; its tumble to the ground had injured its right foreleg. In such inhospitable surroundings, it wouldn’t last long.

“Hold still you whiney old woman!”

Scar held Potbelly’s shoulders in a firm grip while Father Keller worked the crossbow bolt out from deep within the Pit Master’s flesh. Miko knelt next to the trio; the glow of Morcyth surrounded him.

“Is he going to live?”

Miko glanced to Jira, gave her a reassuring smile and nodded. “Yes, Jira. It would take much more than a minor prick such as this to kill a man like Potbelly.”

“Minor prick?” Potbelly said with sarcasm then followed with a final, painful exclamation that announced the emergence of the bolt’s head.

Father Keller held up the bolt. “You are still alive, are you not?”

Scar chuckled. “To hear him, you’d think Death had come to take him away.”

“I have been grievously wounded,” asserted Potbelly. Eyeing the blood-coated bolt, he closed his eyes and laid back.

Miko motioned for Kip to kneel next to him. “Healing is a fine art, one that as a novice should not attempt without guidance.”

Kip nodded and watched as his High Priest placed a hand over the gaping wound. The glow radiated outward from Miko’s palm and suffused the area with healing magic.

“Morcyth supplies the magic, but we are the ones who direct it in its use. Do it incorrectly, and you can inflict great suffering.”

“Is it the same as what the Dark Mage does?”

Miko shook his head.

“No. Magic that comes directly from the gods is different than what a mage would use.”

Kip glanced to James. “How could that be?”

“Not a clue. All we know is that it just is.”

Lines of pain creasing Potbelly’s face gradually diminished as Miko worked to heal the wound.

Kip watched and wished he too could do such magic. One day, he told himself. One day.

Scar eased his grip on his friend’s shoulders. “I think you’re going to survive.”

Potbelly didn’t reply.

The glow vanished and Miko raised his hand. Where a gaping, angry wound had once been was now a patch of pink, healthy-looking skin. Turning his gaze to Scar, Miko said, “It will probably ache for several days. See that he takes it easy.”

Scar nodded. “I will, and thank you.”

Miko grinned and stood. Turning to James he said. “It would do him good if we could remain here for the next couple of hours.”

“Not a problem.” James then turned his head toward where Father Vickor kept an eye on the enemy mage. The priest had the mage’s robe off. A multitude of bruises intermingled with scars of wounds long healed marred the lad’s skin from the waist up. In naught but his small clothes, he looked quite harmless. But James knew otherwise.

“Scar, what did you do to him?”

It wasn’t the bruises that prompted the question, rather the way the mage had failed to use magic and fell from his horse prior to the onset of battle.

Finding James staring at the mage, Scar removed a small tube from his tunic. “A little something we cooked up to deal with a mage who kept interfering with fights. We remembered how you had been laid low with a bit of Berac.” Scar grinned. “Thought it might come in handy.”

“A dart?”

“Needle actually. It has a hollow tip that contains a single drop of distilled Berac. We found it works quite well, for a short time.”

“How long will he be affected?”

Scar shrugged. “The effects usually last an hour. Time enough to deal with a cheater; or in this case an enemy mage.”

“Want me to handle this?”

James glanced to where Jiron and Tinok had just ridden up and shook his head. He had a good idea what Jiron meant by “handling.”

“No. I want to talk to him first. Miko, would you mind helping me?”

“Certainly. What do you want me to do?”

“I know you can tell when someone lies.”

Miko nodded. “Certainly.”

“Then let’s see if he knows anything about the mage that attacked my island.”

The lad’s eyes were sluggish in turning toward James as he approached.

“Do you know who I am?”

His expression remained blank.

“I am The Dark Mage and I have a few questions for you.”

Still nothing.

James glanced to where Scar sat next to Potbelly.

“He should be able to talk,” Scar said. “The effects are mild, just enough to disrupt their magical ability.”

Tinok pulled his knife and before anyone knew what he was about, grabbed the mage by the hair, yanked his head back and set the blade against the lad’s throat. He then spoke in the Empire’s tongue.

Whatever he said produced a result. Eyes that had hitherto been vacant and unresponsive, widened. Darting back and forth among those arrayed before him, they finally settled upon James. There was fear in his eyes. Tinok asked a question and the lad replied, “Azhan.”

“His name is Azhan.”

James nodded. “You speak their language?”

Tinok’s only reply was a nod.

“Ask him if the Empire was behind those that attacked my island.”

The fear in the lad’s eyes turned to outright terror as Tinok spoke. Shaking his head violently, the lad replied in a rapid string of words, the last of which he practically screamed.

“He says that he has no such knowledge.”

James eyed Tinok and wondered what exactly he was saying to the boy. He glanced to Miko who nodded. “He spoke truth.”

“Does he have any knowledge of the mage?”

After a brief interchange, Tinok shook his head.

“If there was a mage of such power from the Empire,” Father Keller said, “he’d know about it.”

“That would stand to reason.”

Miko took a step toward James and in a low voice asked, “If not from the Empire, then where?”

James shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

“Ask him about other mages in the area,” Jiron suggested. “And how long we have until another patrol arrives?”

Tinok spoke to the young mage, his knife still laid against the lad’s throat. When he finished, the knifer said, “The nearest mage is a day’s ride to the east, another is to the west. Both are riding with patrols. Seems they have five such bands roaming Cytok’s northern border. One of the more powerful mages is located in Korazan. He’s there to aid any of these border mages should they prove not up to the task.”

“What about patrols without mages?”

“A patrol of twenty roams south of here, another of equal size lies to the east. He is not certain of their exact position but doubts if they are closer than several hours. If we can cross the Ti-Migala River without encountering either, we’ll be okay.”

James took in the mage in greater detail. Most of the bruises looked old, but one on his left shoulder appeared rather fresh. There was a haunted look in his eyes as he answered their questions. Unlike the mages he had encountered in the past, the ones that had wielded power and commanded respect, this young one looked like a pup that had been abused by its owner.

Interrupting Jiron’s detailed questioning about patrols, their routes and numbers, James signaled for Tinok to move his knife away from the lad’s throat.

“I don’t think he’s going to try anything.”

Tinok kept the knife where it was.

“We can’t be too careful where a mage is concerned,” Jiron argued.

“Move it…away.”

Tinok glanced to Jiron who nodded; the knife moved to the side. The mage visibly relaxed.

Coming toward the lad, James knelt in front of him. The lad’s eyes widened and fear clearly etched itself upon his features.

“Tell him I won’t hurt him.”

Tinok’s words of assurance had little effect.

James caught the young man’s eyes and held them. “I won’t hurt you,” he reiterated slowly and clearly.

Tinok translated his words.

From where Scar sat with Potbelly, he snorted. “You’re not going to convince him of that; you can see it in his eyes. Best kill him now and be done with it.”

James shook his head. “No.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Jiron asked. “Let him go? By sundown the whole world will know you are back. Scar’s right, we have no choice.”

Glancing to his friend, James replied, “There’s always a choice.”

Jiron spat. “You’re aversion to killing is going to get our families dead. We can’t let him go.”

“Then we’ll take him with us.”

Father Vickor laughed. “Take an Empire mage with us? Are you mad?”

“He will give us away,” warned Father Keller.

“No, he won’t.”

James turned back to the mage. Fear still ruled the youth’s features, but it had softened somewhat. He nodded to Tinok then met the mage’s eyes once again. As he spoke, Tinok translated.

“I am the Dark Mage.”

Raising both hands into the air, he summoned magic and the wind began to blow.

In a voice deep and haunting, James intoned, “Servants of Glerhan, hearken to my call.”

Several feet away, a tiny voice whispered, “Glerhan, Father?” which was followed by Jiron’s quick “Hush, Jira.”

Terror was clearly etched upon the young mage. Trembling, he tried to back away, but Tinok held him fast.

Rising from the ground, two creatures of nightmarish proportions took shape. Each the color of earth, they were vaguely man-shaped. Their mouths were filled with razor sharp teeth and their eyes were solid ebony and full of hate and malice. In lieu of hands, these creatures had claws with but four taloned digits.

Both wielded spears the height of a man and crested with a wicked, jagged blade. When they finally took shape and solidified, they towered over everyone in attendance.

“Father, those aren’t the Glerhan…”

“Jira, hush!”

“Mage!”

The terrified gaze of the mage darted from the monstrous Glerhan back to James.

Assuming the stance he would take when meting out punishment to an errant Kenny, James said, “A choice stands before you, boy. Live or….”

He trailed off as the Glerhan raised their spears and made ready to plunge them into the mage. The winds increased in severity for a brief moment, then ceased altogether. It seemed as if the world grew darker in anticipation of the mage’s response.

Lips opened and closed twice in mute response, then on the third try, the mage finally managed to say, “Please…” The declaration took all by surprise for it was spoken in the language of the north. “Do not kill me.”

James maintained his stern demeanor as he said, “So be it.”

The two Glerhan lowered their spears and brought the tips together to just in front of the mage’s chest. Where they met, darkness welled. A foul smelling mist expanded outward from the point of darkness and moved to settle upon every inch of the mage’s exposed skin.

It took all of Tinok’s strength to keep the lad from fleeing in terror. Sheathing his knife, he kept one hand firmly gripped in the mage’s dark locks, the other dug painfully into the left shoulder just below the neck.

“You are mine, body and soul. Attempt to flee, and your flesh will rot from your body. Summon magic, and suffer an eternity of pain. Betray me in any way, and the Glerhan will seek you out.”

The mist quickly coated the mage from head to toe. Every inch of exposed skin reeked with its foul odor.

James brought his hands together above his head so the palms touched.

“I am the Dark Mage.”

His hands separated and between them a crackling orb of light sprang into being. As his hands moved farther apart, the orb grew in both brilliance and intensity.

“There is no escape!”

With a sudden downward swing of his arms, his hands parted and the orb flew at the mage. There was a momentary burst of light followed by a single, terrified scream. When the light vanished, the Glerhan were gone and the mage lay unconscious upon the ground.

James glanced to Jiron and grinned. “There. That should do it.”

Chapter Seventeen

“I liked your Glerhan at your island better, Uncle. The kr…uh, krak…”

“Kraken?”

She nodded to her father. “Kraken, yes. I liked the kraken they rode.”

James patted her on the head. “It wouldn’t make much sense to have sea creatures in a place like this.”

The mage remained unconscious; Shorty and Tinok were given the task of keeping an eye on him. The others sat some distance away where their conversation would not be overheard.

Father Keller had remained quiet ever since the disappearance of the Glerhan. But now he asked, “Will his flesh really rot from his bones should he try to escape?”

James shook his head. “No.” Lowering his voice he added, “It was all a bluff.”

Scar laughed. “After what he just saw, I doubt if that mage will try to see if anything the Dark Mage here just said would come to pass.”

Shifting position in order to alleviate his aches and pains, Potbelly nodded agreement. “From what we’ve heard, you have quite the reputation down here; master of demons and mortals alike.”

Father Keller glanced to the mage and wrinkled his nose. “Then what is that smell?”

“Bug repellant.”

Turning to Miko, Father Keller raised an eyebrow. “Bug repellant?” Then he glanced to James.

“During the war, we had occasion to travel through a pest infested swamp. That was something I cooked up to keep them away. Did a good job, too.”

“Only problem was,” Jiron explained, “the smell was so strong it attracted everything in the area.”

James chuckled. “True enough.”

“Won’t all that magic you did draw mages to the area?” Father Vickor asked.

“Maybe. But from what Azhan said, the nearest one is hours away. I doubt if what I did would carry across such a distance. In any event, if one did sense what I did and does come calling,” he paused then gestured toward the young mage, “they would attribute the magic to him.”

Jiron nodded. On the ground before him were arrayed several important looking documents retrieved from the pack carried by the leader of the soldiers. One bore the seal of Lord Cytok. He picked up the one with the seal and held it before him.

“This looks important.”

“Can Tinok read it?”

Jiron shook his head. “No. He can speak the language, but not decipher it.”

Glancing to James, Miko said, “Azhan could.”

“Do you think he would?”

“After what you just put him through?”

Scar laughed. “I doubt if he could bring himself to deny you anything at this point. His dreams are bound to be haunted with visions of rotting flesh and spear-toting Glerhan for some time.”

The mage stirred as if aware others talked about him. He took one look at Tinok standing over him and froze.

James watched as his gaze darted to and fro until finally settling on him. He wondered what was going on behind the young mage’s eyes. Would he try to escape? That was the question burning uppermost on his mind.

Moving cautiously as if fearing to provoke Tinok into attacking him, the mage rose to a sitting position and crossed his legs. Shoulders drooping, head hung low and eyes downcast, the mage made a rather pitiable sight.

“Let’s see if what I did will be enough.” Raising his voice, he hollered, “Tinok. Bring Azhan over here. I want to talk to him.”

If there was any doubt that the mage understood their language, the raising of his head and sudden look of fear dispelled the uncertainty.

Stepping toward the mage, Tinok said, “Come on. You heard him.”

Azhan bobbed his head and rose. For a moment, it looked as if he would bolt. But then his shoulders sagged and he walked slowly.

Tinok shoved him once to quicken his pace and the mage was soon standing before James.

“Your name is Azhan, correct?”

The mage nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“Ma…?”

James began to question the use of the title then stopped. He had said, You are mine, body and soul. Perhaps from the young mage’s perspective, he was now the property of the Dark Mage; in essence, a slave. Despite his aversion to all things relating to slavery, he thought this misunderstanding might help keep the mage in line until he figured out what to do with him.

Extending his hand toward Jiron, he took the message bearing Lord Cytok’s seal. To Azhan he said, “Tell me what this says.”

The mage bobbed his head then took the message. After a cursory examination he looked up from the message. “It orders my former captain to enter Kazan’s territory and destroy any patrols encountered.”

“Why would he do that?” asked Father Keller.

Azhan glanced to the priest. “There were rumors of Kazan’s men crossing the border and raiding our villages. This would seem to be the Lord Cytok’s response.”

James eyed the young mage. “Just your captain, seven soldiers and you to do this?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You must have no small amount of skill then.”

Lowering his eyes, Azhan nodded. “I am deemed competent, Master.”

Staring for a moment at the young mage, James wondered about him. Azhan didn’t have the feel of one steeped in power. But then, after the destruction of the School of Magic and the devastation wrought throughout their ranks, maybe one such as him would be considered competent in this post-war Empire.

Raising his hand to reach for the other papers in Jiron’s possession, he couldn’t help but notice the way Azhan flinched, as if expecting to be on the receiving end of a blow. James lowered his hand and the young man relaxed.

To Jiron he said, “Let me have the others.”

Azhan examined each of the letters in turn and pronounced them mundane.

James glanced to Miko who nodded indicating Azhan was being truthful. He then turned to Potbelly. “Are you ready to ride?”

Sighing as if such a possibility would be taxing in the extreme, the Pit Master nodded.

“Good.” Coming to his feet, James announced, “Then let’s get out of here. We’ve still a long way to go.”

“Kip,” Miko said, summoning his young novice to him. “Give our guest one of your shirts and trousers. You are about the same height and attention would be drawn should he travel in naught but his small clothes.”

“Yes, Reverend Father.”

Lowering his voice, Miko said, “Not Reverend Father. Just Miko, at least until we return to the temple.”

“As you wish,” a grin creased his face, “Miko.”

Once Azhan donned Kip’s donated attire, they mounted and continued south. The young mage rode next to James. Behind them came Tinok; ready to intervene should the mage prove troublesome. But they had little reason to worry. Azhan appeared, at least for the moment, docile in his new circumstances.

“Azhan.”

“Yes, Master?”

“If we return to the road, will we encounter any patrols this side of the river?”

He thought a moment before saying, “I do not think so, Master. Captain Allin said that another patrol was being dispatched from Morac to guard this area while we dealt with Kazan. They are due to arrive in two days.”

“Two days? From today?”

Azhan nodded. “That is what Captain Allin said, Master.”

From where he rode on the other side of James, Jiron said, “By then we should be south of the river.”

They rode for a few moments in silence before James glanced to Azhan and asked, “Will we be safe once we cross over?”

The young mage shrugged. “These are unsettled times within the Empire, Master. For those not of the Empire, there is no place of absolute safety.”

“But we won’t be hassled by every patrol we meet.”

“Most likely, no. Once you are beyond the Tears of Empress, you will draw less suspicion for any soldiers you encounter will assume that those guarding the borders already checked you out and cleared you for entry.”

James glanced back to where Miko rode and raised his eyebrows.

Miko nodded and mouthed, He speaks the truth.

“You’re uncharacteristically forthcoming with information,” Tinok accused. “I would think that you would seek to undermine our efforts at every opportunity.”

Azhan remained quiet.

“We shouldn’t trust him.”

“Miko says he speaks the truth,” Jiron argued. “That is enough for me.”

Tinok made a derisive noise before spitting on the ground.

They rode southeast for an hour before the road appeared. A ten wagon caravan heading south was making its way; off the road a bit next to it walked two men and a woman, all three having bundles upon their backs. All were heading north.

As they approached the road, the trio of pedestrians cast glances of mild curiosity their way as did the teamsters and guards of the caravan. None appeared alarmed by their appearance.

Scar gave each a friendly wave and nod as he and the rest of their group rode past. One teamster offered a greeting that was returned by Tinok. What was said appeared to be met with approval.

Once on the road, they turned south and rode at a quick pace.

The rest of the afternoon was spent alternating between a fast, ground-covering gait and that of a slow, energy restoring one. By early evening, the glistening waters of the Ti-Migala River came into view. Not long after that, the bridge spanning it appeared. Four soldiers in the service of Lord Cytok stood guard.

James had them slow and come to a stop. He sat there a moment contemplating the scene.

“Azhan, will they let us through?”

“Possibly, Master. I was not informed as to their orders.”

“What difference does it make?” Scar asked before the mage could answer. “There are only four of them. We can take them easily.”

“And have Cytok send his men out to track down their killers? Hardly.”

“You could follow the river west and cross at Tapu, Master. There are no soldiers garrisoned in Tapu.”

James glanced to Azhan. “How far is it?”

“You can’t seriously be considering this,” Shorty exclaimed.

All eyes turned to him.

“A few hours ago he would have killed us, now you are going to take advice from him?” The knifer’s expression clearly indicated he considered such a thought beyond all reason.

“Shorty has a point,” Jiron said. “How far can we trust him?”

James turned to Miko. “Well? What do you think?”

“I believe he is telling the truth.”

“Okay, then.” Turning back to the young mage, he asked, “Azhan, how far to Tapu?”

“A long day’s ride, Master.” Casting his gaze to the position of the sun, he added, “Or rather, a long night’s.”

Various forms of non-vocalized, incredulous expressions followed. James allowed it to continue without reproach. He trusted Miko, and if Miko said that Azhan spoke the truth, then he would plan accordingly. It would be far better to cross the river without running the risk of questions being asked that could not be satisfactorily answered. Once on the southern shore, suspicion arising from their presence would greatly diminish.

Coming to Potbelly, he noticed how the Pit Master’s face was pale and drawn. “Can you ride?”

“Of course I can ride. If you are asking whether or not traveling tonight will be without discomfort, I can assure you that it will not.”

Scar stood behind his friend and rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.”

James cracked a smile and nodded. “Very well. Let’s get going.”

They headed northwest until the river, the bridge and the guards patrolling it faded from view. Then after another mile or so of westward traveling, they veered south and continued until the river once again appeared on the horizon. Keeping it just within visual range, they made for Tapu.

At nightfall, they took a break and rations were distributed. Azhan looked surprised when James handed him a share equal to his own.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Not a problem, Azhan.”

Sitting on the ground next to the young mage, James tore off a chunk of dried beef and started to chew. Azhan merely sat there holding his ration of dried beef, half a dried apple and a chunk of bread that was on the stale side of fresh.

“Go ahead. Eat.”

When the young mage still hesitated, James swallowed and said, “Is there something wrong with your food?”

Azhan shook his head vigorously. “No, Master. The food is most acceptable.” He stared at the food for several moments, then glanced nervously at James. Raising the half portion of dried apple, he continued staring at James as he took a hesitant bite.

James grinned as he too nibbled on his piece of dried apple. “Not bad, is it?”

Azhan nodded and took another bite. The nervous hesitancy, the flicking of his eyes to and from James in rapid succession, all gave the appearance that the young mage expected some sort of reaction from his new “master.”

His actions were not lost on James. Given the numerous bruises and scars marring his youthful skin, James figured his life had not been a pleasant one. Coupled with the stories being told about the Dark Mage, it was no wonder the young man was wary. He gave Azhan a reassuring grin and continued eating.

As the meal progressed, the young mage gradually relaxed but never managed to completely be at ease. He would jump and start whenever anyone would rise or walk near.

Finally, after seeing him shy away when Jiron came to his feet and walked passed on the way to the horses, James asked, “What is life like for a mage in the Empire?”

Wariness replaced apprehension for a brief moment before turning into nervousness once again. “Not like it was.”

“How do you mean?”

Azhan hesitated for a few seconds before replying. “Before the war, we were treated with awe and respect.” There was a touch of wistful sadness coloring his words. “People feared us.”

“But not now?”

He shook his head. “There are very few of any great ability remaining. Most are of the First and Second Circles; meager in talent and more often than not, useless. Less than a score remain within the Third and Fourth Circles. Of the Masters, only two survived the war. One currently advises the Emperor and never leaves Azzac.”

“And the other?” Jiron asked.

Conversations faded away as everyone listened to the young mage.

“I heard that a Warlord, I am not certain which, offered an unbelievable amount of gold and stole him away.”

Scar laughed. “I bet that made Cytok mad.”

Azhan glanced to the Pit Master and nodded. “He put a thousand gold piece bounty on the mage’s head.”

Shorty whistled. “That’s quite a sum. Anyone try to collect?”

“Against a Master Mage? None would dare.” He turned his attention to James. “But you could, Master.”

“Maybe so, Azhan. But I’m not interested and I doubt that even if I presented Lord Cytok with his head, I would receive any such reward for my trouble.”

“True enough,” Jiron agree with a chuckle.

James grew thoughtful. He recalled the numerous bruises and scars marring Azhan’s chest and back. “Life in the patrol wasn’t pleasant, was it?”

Sadness and no small amount of shame shadowed the young mage’s face. “No, Master.”

“Well,” he began, his voice softening, “you won’t have to worry about that now.”

Azhan lowered his gaze; his whole demeanor indicated that he didn’t believe it.

With the meal over, they resumed their journey.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, a signpost appeared from out of the moon-shrouded landscape. The sign itself was comprised of three boards, each bearing hastily scrawled lettering in the Empire’s tongue.

Though the appearance of the signpost itself, in an area far from any road, drew their interest, it was the three human skulls resting against its base that caused them to stop. There was just enough moonlight for the riders to distinguish their unmistakable characteristics.

“What is this?”

Scar glanced back to James, who in turn looked at Azhan. “Something we need to know?”

The mage hesitated only a moment before replying, “No, Master.”

“He lies.”

No sooner had Miko announced the mage’s duplicity than Tinok’s knife appeared. He took hold of the mage’s tunic and laid the blade against his throat. “I knew we couldn’t trust him.”

Father Vickor summoned the power of Morcyth and his hand was enveloped with its white glow. The emanating light allowed the sign to be seen in greater detail.

“Look here.”

With his other hand, the priest pointed to the sign’s lower left corner and the trio of dots forming the points of a triangle with lines running between them yet not touching. It was the symbol of Dmon-Li’s Warrior Priests.

“He’s playing us for fools!” Tinok exclaimed. The set of his face said he was prepared to end the young mage’s life right then.

James held up his hand, “Wait.” To Azhan he asked, “What is this?”

Gulping hard around the blade pressed to his throat produced a drop of blood, Azhan worked to still his fear of dying and spoke.

“Tapu is said to be cursed, Master. The sign warns all travelers to go no further.”

“Cursed?” Scar snarled.

James waved for Tinok to move the blade away. “Is this why the bridge is not guarded?”

Azhan nodded. “Yes, Master.”

“What is the curse?”

“Some believe it is the manifestation of the god Dmon-Li’s wrath for what happened during the war. Others that it is a deviltry concocted by,” he glanced nervously to James, “The Dark Mage, set to bring misery and suffering, for…that is what…he likes to do to people.”

Looking disgusted, James shook his head. “It wasn’t me. And just so you know, I do not like bringing misery and suffering to others.”

“How does the curse manifest?”

Turning to Miko, Azhan replied, “Loss of strength, withering of flesh, and death.”

Scar cursed. “You didn’t think that worth mentioning?”

Fear sprang anew upon the features of the young mage; he remained silent.

“He plans to get us killed!” Shorty exclaimed.

“No, Master!”

Returning his gaze to James, Azhan emphatically shook his head. “That was not my intention.”

“Then what was?” Father Vickor asked.

Azhan remained silent.

“Well?” James asked.

Though fear was clearly etched upon his young features, Azhan met his master’s gaze. “You needed a way of crossing the Ti-Migala River that would allow you to avoid detection. Every bridge is guarded; crossing at Tapu is the only way.”

“Better to kill a few guards then risk getting cursed.”

James glanced to Scar, then turned to Miko.

“What do you think?”

Shrugging, Miko nodded to the sign. “Something prompted them to post this.” He gazed off through the darkness in the direction of Tapu. “I do not sense anything.”

“Neither do I.”

Potbelly shifted in his saddle. “Maybe it’s a curse that gets you only when you get close to it.”

“Could be a proximity triggered release,” agreed James. “Though I think the reason we can’t sense anything is because we’re not close enough. We do have a High Priest with us should this curse prove real.”

Scar didn’t look convinced. He gestured to Miko. “No offense, but he’s a bit new at this whole High Priest thing. This could be something beyond his ability to handle.”

Father Vickor snorted.

“Our Reverend Father is more than capable to deal with whatever may arise.”

Kip bristled a bit himself at the thought that his High Priest was somehow inadequate.

“I’m sure,” James interjected before things got heated, “that between Miko and I, we can deal with it. Now, let’s proceed.”

Scar motioned for James to take the lead.

“What,” chided Shorty, “scared of a little curse?”

Flashing the knifer a glare filled with ire, Scar shook his head. “It only seems prudent for James to lead when there’s a likelihood of encountering magic.”

James nodded. “I agree.” Moving to take the lead, he was joined by Miko.

“Let someone else eat dust for a while.”

Chuckling, James rode past the sign and headed for Tapu.

Father Vickor gave the sign one last worried look before releasing the power of Morcyth, allowing the shadows to return. He nudged his horse into motion. The dark somehow felt more ominous than it had a moment before.

Chapter Eighteen

Despite James’ boast that he and Miko could handle anything, it was with no small amount of trepidation that he continued toward Tapu.

What was this curse? If it was bad enough for the Empire to completely vacate a town and post warnings to keep others away, could he handle it?

Five minutes past the sign, his skin began to tingle. A sidelong glance to Miko showed that he felt it too.

“Magic,” he whispered so as not to alarm the others.

Miko nodded. “There is nothing malign about it.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

He continued leading their party forward until a small, dark mass appeared out of the shadows. Moving closer revealed it to be the remains of a wild dog, ones that were common to the area. Even in the faint moonlight they could see that its skin was shriveled tightly against its bones.

Miko dismounted and knelt next to it. He pointed toward the head. “Looks like it was trying to leave Tapu.” Calling the power of Morcyth to him, he caused his hand to glow, providing sufficient light for a more detailed inspection.

Taking a stick from off the ground, he turned the dog over.

“No wounds. It appears to have just up and died.”

A few pokes against the skin showed it to be tough and leathery.

“The curse get it?”

Glancing up to Scar, Miko shrugged. “Difficult to say.”

“But it could have.”

Nodding, Miko said, “Yes, Scar. Based on the description of the curse Azhan gave us, it most definitely could have.”

The Master of the Pit nervously glanced to the shadows surrounding them.

“We should head for the bridge and put this accursed place behind us,” Potbelly said.

Miko released the power and mounted.

James glanced in the direction of the river. “There’s no reason we have to go through Tapu.”

“True,” agreed Miko. “Following the river may be the prudent course of action.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Moving from the road, James led them toward the river. The tingling sensation remained constant. But once they reached the water’s edge and made for the bridge, it intensified.

Several minutes passed before Father Vickor rubbed his arm and asked, “Do you feel that?” He glanced to Father Keller.

“Yes, I do,” agreed his fellow priest.

“It’s magic,” announced James from the front. “It’s been with us for some time.”

“Magic?” queried Scar.

“It’s not very strong,” James assured. “Nothing to worry about.”

Scar snorted. “Nothing to worry about? Try explaining that to the people who used to live here.”

Potbelly nodded.

Surety laid in his words, not in his heart as James continued leading the others along the riverbank. The steadily increasing tingles running along his skin worried him far more than he let on. Had the river been fordable, even if doing so was taking a risk, he would have given up on trying to gain the bridge and crossed right there. Unfortunately, the river was far too deep for them to make the attempt. The bridge was the only way across if they wished to remain unnoticed.

He scanned the distance ahead in an attempt to determine how far they had yet to go in order to reach the bridge. But all he could make out were periodic areas where moonlight sparkled upon the water. The darkness maintained its hold upon the location of the bridge and refused to give it up.

“If we don’t….” James began just as a momentary surge of powerful magic emanated from somewhere within the deserted town of Tapu.

Horses reared, men cried and Father Vickor was thrown from his horse before it bolted off into the night.

White light flared as the priests summoned the power of Morcyth. Those still mounted managed to gain control of their mounts.

Leaping from his horse, Father Keller went to see to his friend and found him a bit bruised but no worse for the fall.

“What in the name of….”

“Quiet!” shouted James, cutting off Potbelly. “Is everyone alright?” He glanced to where Father Vickor rose to his feet and received a nod.

“It was not directed at us,” Miko announced.

As if to answer the unspoken question running through everyone’s mind, a dark object fell from the sky and landed among them.

In the priestly light, the body of a night owl could clearly be seen. Its misshapen body lay twisted in the dirt.

“What happened to it, Father?” Jira asked.

Jiron looked to James.

Returning the look with an uncertain one, James dismounted and approached the bird. Using the tip of his knife, he flipped it over.

Shrunken flesh, leathery texture; it was identical to the state in which they had found the wild dog earlier. Considering the surge of magic felt just prior to the bird’s fall, there was little doubt as to what caused its death. He stood and turned to Azhan.

“I thought you said there were stages to the curse; loss of strength, withering of flesh, and then death.”

“That is what I was told, Master.”

Miko dismounted and came to join James, as did the others. “It would seem the nature of the curse has changed.”

“You got that right,” Scar said as he nudged the dead owl with the toe of his boot. “Now it’s one moment you’re alive, the next you’re dead.”

“And we’re next.”

James glanced to Shorty, held his gaze a moment, then nodded. “You may be right.” He then turned his attention to the ribbon of moon-dabbled water winding its way through the darkness.

“Azhan, any idea how far to the bridge?”

“No, Master.”

Miko came next to him. “What do you propose?”

James kept his eye on an expanse of river far ahead. Press on or head back? They would lose time and risk detection if they left Tapu and crossed elsewhere. But dared they continue?

From the river, his gaze traveled toward where he believed the surge of magic originated. Though Azhan said the place was cursed, and the sign affirmed that belief, he simply could not shake the feeling that the surge of power he felt was something else. It had attacked the bird; drained it of all its energy. A defensive spell? One designed to kill any living thing that encroached within a specified area?

Such a thing was possible; he had implemented similar defenses for his island; though his were in “sleep” mode until activated. Moreover, who would need such a powerful defense? A mage perhaps that feared retaliation for a certain island attack?

The more he thought about it, the more the idea that they may have stumbled upon the mage’s lair made sense. If the Empire were behind the attack, then they would have thought little to afford the mage a base of operations, even at the expense of the former inhabitants of Tapu. After all, what better way to keep people away and make ready in secret than to kill off the locals and post signs saying there was a curse. Had James less a sense of morality, he too may have done something similar to maintain his own privacy.

He turned to Miko. “Do you think Morcyth will protect you from what killed the owl?”

“Are you thinking of continuing to the bridge?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No. I’m thinking of investigating the source of the attack.”

“Curse, you mean.”

James glanced to Scar. “I don’t think it is a curse. Curses don’t act like this.”

Scar didn’t look convinced. “How do you know?”

“Call it a hunch. If it was an attack, something that powerful must be hiding something interesting.”

“Like a mage of considerable power?” Jiron asked.

He thought Jiron might be the first to make that intuitive leap. “Exactly.” Turning back to Miko, he asked, “So how about it? Care to check this out with me?”

The high priest nodded. To Father Keller he said, “You and Father Vickor remain with the others.”

“But you may have need of us, Reverend Father.”

He dismissively waived away the suggestion. “We will be fine.”

“Scar,” James said, “you and the others go back downriver several miles until we deal with this.”

“How will we know when you’re done?”

Jiron chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll have some idea.”

Frowning, James shot him an annoyed look, then sighed. “You’re probably right. Come on, Miko. Let’s see what secrets lay within Tapu.”

As he mounted, he heard Scar say, “Shorty, you take Father Vickor and see if you can’t locate his horse. The rest of you, let’s get out of harm’s way.”

“Be careful, Uncle.”

James turned his horse to find Jira looking at him with big, fearful eyes.

“Not to worry, Jira. Your uncle Miko and I have handled this sort of thing before.”

Worry gradually faded away and her little head bobbed. “Okay.”

“See you in a bit.” Then is a quieter voice, one intended to be heard by just her, he added, “Keep an eye on your father. Don’t let him get lost in the dark.”

All fear and worry vanished as a grin took its place. “I’ll do that, Uncle,” she whispered back.

James gave her a thumb’s up and then turned his horse back toward Tapu and moved to join Miko. As the two trotted off, the white glow of Morcyth sprang to fully envelope Miko and his horse while a shimmering shield did the same for James and his.

The two took their time approaching the outskirts of Tapu. James sent his senses forward to ferret out what lay ahead between their present position and the first set of houses. Other than flora common to the area, there was little to indicate the lair of a powerful mage; there was, however, the fact that every few feet or so they encountered another dark lump, the remains of some living creature fallen prey to the “curse” of Tapu.

It wasn’t until the shadowy outline of a farmhouse came into view that the attack struck.

Wham!

A massive surge of magic hit them square on. An eruption of reddish-orange light exploded upon contact with their shields to shatter the darkness. Both their steeds reared. Miko kept his under control while James lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Rolling to the side, he barely avoided the stomping hooves of the terrified creature. He released the shield just long enough for the horse to bolt, then brought it back into being.

Wham!

The strike hit the fleeing horse in mid-stride. The force of the blow knocked it off its hooves and caused it to sail through the air until landing with a thud some yards away. It didn’t get up.

Miko rode to his side as he got to his feet.

“Are you okay?”

James nodded. “A little shaken, but nothing broken.” He glanced to where his horse lay. “Guess I’m walking from here.”

Miko dismounted. “It might be better that way.”

Laying a hand against his horse’s neck, he whispered a prayer to Morcyth and the glow continued to surround the creature as it turned to head toward where the rest of their party waited.

He noticed James’ quizzical look.

“He will find his way.”

“Uh-huh.”

This time they moved quickly to the rear of a single-story home. A dark opening not far to their right indicated the presence of a window. Moving toward the opening, they paused briefly. The light surrounding Miko did little to dispel the darkness within the abode; illuminating just far enough to reveal what they took to be the corner of a bed.

James indicated with a nod that they should proceed to the end of the wall and continue working their way deeper within Tapu.

At the edge of the home, James glanced across the street to another similar structure standing silent witness to the encroachment of these two visitors; then down the street leading to the heart of Tapu. Somewhere in that direction lay the source of the magic.

Its presence now was quite strong. Though inactive for the moment, James could sense the power waiting to be unleashed. The mage must have accumulated quite a reservoir of magic if he could feel its presence this far away. It was similar in nature to the feeling one of his crystals gave off, one that had reached its limit and could hold no more.

A tap on the shoulder caused him to jump before realizing that he had been motionless in contemplation for several moments. Nodding to Miko, he kept close to the side of the home as he turned the corner and moved into town.

His senses still detected nothing that would indicate that something lived in Tapu. They were able, however, to see the emanating presence of the stored magic. It was like the sun when it hits the horizon, deep red and angry. Of the mage, there was still no sign.

Half a dozen streets and a smattering of buildings lay between them and the magic. Moving out from the side of the building, he made his way down the street and toward the next intersection.

Wham!

Magic slammed into their protective shields and knocked them back a step. A momentary flicker in the static mass of magic had occurred half a second before the attack. Attack, though, wasn’t quite the right word. It had been more like a leeching; an attempt to draw magic from them.

James had plenty of experience in that arena, for he had devised many a spell to do just that. There were ways around it, but for that he had to figure out the overriding master spell set into place that was generating the devastating leeching.

Wham!

He had its number now. A small alteration to the shield protecting him and the attack failed to even so much as make him miss a step. When the next attack struck, he didn’t even feel it.

Miko on the other hand was having a much harder time. The attacks were draining him badly and the strain of maintaining his defenses was clearly etched upon his face.

James increased his shield to encompass his friend.

Red flared as the attack came once again. This time, the magic flowed over and around his shield only to dissipate some distance behind them.

Miko released the power of Morcyth.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Morcyth must not be much into battle mages.”

“No, he is not.”

“That’s alright. I can take it from here.”

Miko glanced in the direction of the magic. “I fail to detect the presence of a mage.”

“I know. The magic doesn’t feel the same as it did during the attack on my island, either.”

“Someone else?”

James shrugged. “Maybe. Either way, we need to find out what’s going on before we cross the river. Should someone be hiding around here…”

Another attack stuck and flowed harmlessly over his protective shell.

“…they would have to know we’re here and what we are. We can’t afford them the opportunity to sound the alarm that a mage moves within the Empire.”

Miko nodded.

James stepped forward and maintained a quick pace as he headed toward the source of the attacks. Miko kept pace beside him.

His senses probed the buildings by which they walked. Interiors devoid of any living thing were all he found. Ahead, though, the source of the magic glowed in his mind’s eye in ever greater luminosity with every step he took.

Finally, they arrived at what looked to be a market square. During Tapu’s heyday, it would have been filled with the bustling activity of haggling merchants and eager buyers. Stalls lined the walls encompassing the square. In the moonlight, they looked forlorn.

Still and quiet. Nothing moved in the night. It seemed almost as if the very wind feared to move and disturb what lay on the far side of the square.

His eyes told him nothing. Shadows and indistinct moonlit mosaics formed a pattern within which anything could be hidden. But with his mind’s eye, a glow nearly as deep and dark as the heart of some fell beast radiated from a point along the far wall.

A glance to Miko revealed that he could sense it as well.

In a voice barely above a whisper, Miko said, “There is no one there.”

James nodded. He, too, failed to detect the presence of the master of the magic. Could the mage have a shield spell that prevented detection? Such an ability would definitely put the odds in the mage’s favor.

In an attempt to flush the mage out, James created one of his magic-radiating orbs that floated through the air and sent it forward.

No sooner had it passed beyond the edge of his shield than it was obliterated by a draining attack such as had plagued them since entering Tapu.

Testing the mage’s defenses, James simultaneously created six and sent them outward in scattered formations. Six strikes destroyed them in rapid succession.

“He’s not going to show himself.”

“No,” Miko said, shaking his head. “We shall have to seek him out.”

“Let’s take out his store of magic first. I’d rather face him without such power at his beck and call. Keep an eye out while I work to extinguish it.”

“Very well.”

James entered the square and focused his attention on the source of magic. Walking steadily, he used both his regular sight and that of his mind to ascertain the exact location of the magic.

The frequency of attacks increased. By the time he had reached the center of the square, they came with nearly every step he took. His shield held, keeping them at bay.

As the far wall came into view through the mélange of shadow and moonlight, an open aired courtyard gradually emerged. Piles of lumber were stacked neatly off along the left side while several wagons sat in no apparent order throughout.

“It appears to be a carpenter’s shop.”

Miko proved to be correct as upon drawing closer, the main workshop was revealed.

The doors stood open and moonlight streamed through to illuminate several dressers, stools, chests, and just within the doorway, six wagon wheels leaned in an orderly stack.

James gave it only a passing glance as he turned his attention back to the rear of the carpenter’s courtyard. There, the magic radiated strongest.

Despite the frequency of the attacks, the sheer magnitude of the stored magic failed to decrease.

The prickling of his skin was nearly intolerable with being in such close proximity. It felt as if he had rolled in an anthill and was now covered in a swarm of the little nasties. Ignoring his discomfort, he pressed forward.

“Any sign of the mage?”

“No.”

James glanced to his friend. “You would think that if he was here, he would have done something by now.”

“One would think so,” Miko agreed.

Stepping forward, he brought them to the opened gate leading into the carpenter’s courtyard. A couple wagons came into view, but nothing that indicated anything untoward. Yet, the presence of the magical energy could not be dismissed.

Attacks now came back to back with but the briefest pause in between. Each held the same intensity, the same manner of attack; it was as if whatever was directing them only had one trick and was unable to adapt it to the fact James’ shield made them ineffective.

The attacks were originating from the heart of the stored magic. With his mind’s eye, he determined that it was located somewhere on the far side of the courtyard. Visually, there was nothing to indicate the presence of anything so powerful. Quiet, moonlit shadows were all he saw. Bracing himself for any increase in intensity in the attacks, he stepped forward and entered the courtyard.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Non-stop surges of power slammed into him. But, similar to the ones before, they proved inconsequential against his shield.

The glow of Morcyth surrounding Miko produced a field of illumination that revealed an area extending six feet in all directions. As the pair drew nearer the far side of the courtyard, a wagon sitting askew came into view. Its left wheel was missing causing the left end of the axel to rest upon the ground. The rear courtyard wall rose mere feet on the other side of the wagon.

James came to a halt. As unbelievable as it sounded, the magic originated at the wagon; more specifically, the bed of the wagon.

“The wagon?”

He nodded as he glanced to Miko. “Yes. But why would…” he began then trailed off as understanding came.

Six years ago when he and Jiron separated from Illan and his Raiders near the end of the war, he had planted seeds of destruction in the beds of wagons traveling with various caravans. The seeds were designed to draw minute amounts of magic into itself, store it, then explosively release the amassed magic when active magic came near. The plan had been designed to take out Empire mages; in fact, one such trap had wiped out the Empire’s School of the Arcane.

The wagon before him must have been one of those carrying his seeds of destruction. For six years it had drawn and stored magic from its surroundings.

“How does the curse manifest?”

Turning to Miko, Azhan replied, “Loss of strength, withering of flesh, and death.”

And that is exactly what a continual drawing of magic would do to those living in Tapu. He had caused this. A town died because of him. He hadn’t even considered the effects should the seeds remain active an extended amount of time. Were there others still drawing power? Still killing innocent people like the former citizens of Tapu? He couldn’t concern himself about that right now. His family took priority over everything. Once the danger to them was removed, only then would he worry about discovering if any other seeds still existed.

“Do you remember me telling you about my plan to remove Empire mages during the war?”

“Yes. You created magic traps and sent them into the Empire in….” A moment’s pause, then, “Is this one of yours?”

James nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Another moment of silence before Miko asked, “Then, was it not supposed to have exploded by now? From the way you described what you did, your shield should be within the range that would trigger its destructiveness.”

“Absolutely. It should have gone off, and considering the amount of magic stored within it, left a massive hole where Tapu now stands.” Strengthening his shield in anticipation of just such an occurrence, James backed out of the courtyard amid an array of continued attacks, and didn’t stop until the entire market square stood between them and the wagon. Though only a marginally safer location should the seed actually go off, from that spot there was less likelihood of his magic triggering it.

“I can’t leave it.” He glanced to Miko and saw his friend nod. “This could get interesting.”

Miko gave a half-smile. “Usually does when you get involved.”

“Brace yourself.”

The white glow of Morcyth surrounding the god’s high priest intensified and reached out to envelope James as well. “Whenever you are ready.”

After a moment of adjusting his own shield to withstand the explosive release of magic, James turned his attention full onto the wagon and the nexus of magic radiating from within. His mind’s eye traveled toward the wagon.

Now that he knew it was his own construction, he could sense the bonds originally used to set the spell in place. They were definitely his, only… something was different.

“Do spells degrade over time?” James asked.

He glanced to Miko who shrugged. “I do not know. Azhan may. Why?”

Returning his attention to the “seed,” he said, “It’s different. Instead of drawing very small amounts of magic from the world around it at periodic intervals, it now seeks to completely drain magic from whatever comes near it all at once.”

“Like the owl.”

“Exactly.”

As if to emphasis what he said, another attack hit the shield, only to be deflected harmlessly.

“Also, the trigger to blow upon detecting magic is no longer operational.”

“Could someone else have changed it?”

“I don’t see how,” James replied. “The only way to have done that is by using magic, which would have caused the seed to detonate. No, the spell must have deteriorated over time. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

With his mind’s eye, he could see the interwoven intricacies of the spell. Over the past several years, especially since his first experiments with teleportation, he had grown more adept at discerning the multitude of magical components that make up the inner workings of a spell. Although, it was very likely an illusion constructed by his mind to make sense from something completely incomprehensible.

In any event, what he saw was like pulsating, undulating threads of magic that comprised the spell; each being incredibly small and delicate like spider’s silk. Pull one, and the whole would collapse. The trick, of course, was to pull the right one. Tug on the wrong one and, well, the situation could escalate quickly to extremely unpleasant. The more complicated the spell, the more interwoven and numerous the threads became; thus making the task of figuring out how to dismantle it all the harder. What he saw before him was akin to what a ball of yarn would look like after a litter of kittens was done with it. It was a tangled mass of threads that twisted and serpentined in complete disorder.

Within this labyrinth of magical threads, he discovered a series of lines that seemed familiar in some inexplicable way, lines which ran along more symmetrical and linear paths. Tracing them from one to another revealed a cohesive pattern at the center of the labyrinth. He was certain that he had found the original spell.

At numerous points along the outer perimeter of the original spell, offshoots sprang forth. It was from these offshoots that the labyrinthine network of lines encompassing the original spell originated.

James stood in silent contemplation of what he was seeing while his shield warded off attack after attack.

A small fluxation in one area of the original spell preceded a larger fluxation in the lines of magic surrounding it; which in turn was followed by the attack. After three such consecutive attacks, he came to the realization that the outer layer of magic was magnifying what the inner layer was doing.

Maybe by severing the amplifying strand from the original, the attacks would cease?

“Be ready, I’m going to try something,” he said and out of the corner of his eye, saw Miko nod as the glow of Morcyth intensified yet further.

His entire thoughts and concentration were on the point at which the offshoot connected to the original spell. He saw the spell pulse; the outer spell surged; and the attack struck.

Pulse-Surge-Attack.

A second later, the pattern repeated itself.

Pulse-Surge-Attack.

He waited for yet another sequence to play out. Then, in the lull before the pattern would begin anew, he struck. A tiny sliver of magic hit the base of the offshoot.

Expecting an explosion, he was surprised that the only reaction to the severing was the vanishing of a section of the outer magical layer. When the sequence of magic began again, there was only the Pulse. The attacks had ended.

“Well,” commented Miko as the glow of Morcyth returned to its former level, “that is better.”

Giving out with a relieved sigh, James wiped the sweat from his brow and nodded. “But there’s still a lot of magic stored in there.”

“I understand.” The glow re-intensified.

Taking in the increased luminosity, James raised his eyebrow and cast Miko a grin.

Miko shrugged. “You never know.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “True enough.”

Returning his attention to the spell and the stored magic it contained, James considered his options. As far as he could see, there were but two; drain or detonate. Trying the former would quite likely bring about the later. He felt like a member of the Bomb Squad sent in to disarm an explosive device. Now which is it? Red wire or blue…

“Give me a hand.”

Holding out both hands, Miko asked, “Which one?”

“No. I need your help in maintaining a shield around the wagon while I try to drain the magic.”

“Alright.”

Turning his attention to the wagon and the magical seed within, Miko gave life to a white shimmering sphere that fully encompassed the wagon. The luminosity of the sphere gradually increased over the course of several moments until the glow radiating forth turned night into day.

“Will this suffice?”

James checked it with his senses and nodded. “It should.” He then glanced to his friend and saw the strain upon Miko’s face. “How long can you hold it?”

“As long as needed.” A momentary pause, then, “But try not to dawdle.”

“Will do.”

Returning his attention to the destructive seed and the stored magic it contained, James considered what to do. He dared not stick it with a pin and pop it like a bubble. There needed to be a safe way that the magic could be diffused or drawn off. It took nearly a minute, but a plan of sorts came to mind.

“Stay here.”

Not waiting for Miko’s nod, he quick-timed it across the market square toward a spot twenty feet to the right of the wagon. Coming to a stop, he put his hands together, then drew them apart. Between his palms, a round translucent bubble formed. Once it had a diameter close to a foot, James removed his hands and the bubble stayed in place.

He hurried past the carpenter’s courtyard for another distance of twenty feet, then created a second translucent bubble just like first. When it floated free, he returned to Miko.

“Be ready.”

Closing his eyes, he brought the labyrinthine network of magical lines that was the magical seed into view with his mind’s eye. This was the tricky part. He needed to create a conduit from the stored magic to each of the bubbles simultaneously in order to create an even outflow and maintain equilibrium. In the back of his mind he wondered why he needed to do it thus, but past experiences had taught him to trust his instincts where magic was concerned. It felt like the right thing to do and so he set aside the question for later. Right now, he needed to get this done.

Focusing on the bubbles, he created coil-like extensions that expanded from each and twined their way toward the stored magic. As they drew closer, he slowed their advance to a crawl. Working ever so carefully, he brought them to a point where both coils of magic were a hair’s breadth from the glowing heart of the spell. It was there that the magic concentrated most densely. Praying that this would work, be connected the two extensions.

Light exploded outward from the two bubbles as from each, dozens of glowing orbs sprang into being. The orbs lasted only a brief moment before vanishing into nothing.

After keeping an eye on the stable outflow of magic for several moments, James strengthened the coils leading to the bubbles and the magic flow increased.

“Impressive.”

Dozens of orbs had turned into hundreds and the flow of magic remained steady. Risking a quick glance to Miko, he grinned and nodded. “Not sure how long this is going to take, but I’ll gradually increase the usage until all the stored magic is depleted.”

Returning his attention to the outflow of magic, James observed for another minute before tweaking the outflow to a greater level. The magic stored at the heart of the spell did not feel as if his efforts had had any effect. Not wanting to remain at this all night, he upped the outflow yet further.

Individual orbs could no longer be discerned as now a constant explosion of light erupted outward from both bubbles. After several moments of close scrutiny, he discerned a lessening to the stored magic. Turning to Miko, he gave him a grin. “It’s working.”

Chapter Nineteen

“What does he think he’s doing?”

Jiron paced, all the while staring at the glow coming from the heart of Tapu. It was now so bright that it would assuredly draw the attention of anyone in the vicinity; quite possibly, even those that were not in the area. It had to be visible for miles.

“I’m sure what he has to,” replied Father Vickor.

“Well, he’d better finish quickly so we can get out of here before someone comes to investigate.” Many grunts of agreement followed Shorty’s comment.

“You needn’t worry about that.”

Rounding on Azhan, Jiron asked, “What do you mean?”

The young mage gestured toward the light. “Should his efforts be observed, it would merely be attributed to the curse plaguing this area. No one would willingly brave death to investigate.”

Tinok snorted. “I hardly think your masters would think twice about sending someone to their deaths should the whim strike.”

Lowering his eyes to the ground, he ignored the knifer’s barb and remained silent. Azhan’s right hand rubbed along his left forearm. The prickling sensation caused by the active magic in Tapu had grown marginally uncomfortable since the light first appeared.

While the others argued amongst themselves as to the possible ramifications of what transpired in the cursed city, Azhan silently admitted to himself that Tinok’s observation was closer to the truth than he had alluded. A patrol would most assuredly check out any unusual happenings, even in a place reputedly cursed.

He had mixed feelings about that. Did he really want to be saved? Life under Captain Allin had been anything but pleasant. As part of a patrol, he would never be able to advance in his craft. However, with the Dark Mage as his master…and then there were his master’s Glerhan to consider. He did not relish the idea of having them hunting for him.

Glancing again to Tapu, he knew that such feats were beyond the skills of anyone currently at the School. Maybe the two remaining Masters could match such a deed; though the chance that they would take a lowly mage like himself on as apprentice was all but nonexistent. In these unsettled times, one needed to first look after himself.

Captain Aziri, a right nasty piece of work in whose company his friend and fellow mage, Hikai, languished, led the nearest patrol. From the few conversations he and Hikai had shared when their two patrols met up, life with Captain Aziri was worse than what he had endured.

In the deep recesses of his mind, he harbored a hope that Captain Aziri would run afoul of his new master and his master’s comrades. The ghost of a grin appeared as he laid back on the ground and thought of the meeting, and the ensuing carnage. Of course in this vision, Hikai survived and together, they would learn at the feet of the dreaded Dark Mage.

As the Dark Mage’s apprentices, they would be party to momentous, historic events. And one day, should they live through it, become Masters in their own right. Visions of battles both mundane and arcane played through his mind. In the midst of them all, the Dark Mage and his two apprentices wielded forces that laid waste to everyone that dared come against them.

Mountains crumbled, seas boiled, men fell in droves, the power of the Dark Mage ruled supreme. During a vision where he was summoning creatures of fire to deal with a thousand raiders, the prickling of his skin abruptly turned from merely annoying to painful. Snapped out of his reverie, he knew something had changed.

A gasp escaped him upon spying a shimmering, undulating darkness moving toward them from the south across the night sky. Entire swaths of stars would fade and grow distinct in its passing. The scope of the thing was immense.

Apprehension filled him to such an extent that he could not take his eyes from it. None other seemed to have noticed the approach of the shimmering darkness. Moving fast, it was soon over their camp.

The prickling pain intensified to a nearly unendurable level as the mass passed overhead. His heart beat fast and sweat broke out on his brow. Never had he heard of such a thing. Pinpricks of pain flared across his skin; not until it had moved past and the sky above returned to normal did they subside.

Now freed of the paralytic hold the mass had held over his eyes, they turned from it toward the light coming from the heart of Tapu.

“Master!”

He lurched to his feet and took two steps toward Tapu before an arm snaked around his throat, bringing him to an abrupt halt.

“Not so fast.” Tinok squeezed the mage’s neck and brought his knife up to lay alongside Azhan’s cheek.

“But…”

His words faded to silence when at the heart of Tapu, the light intensified tenfold.

For the last half hour, James had been closely monitoring the progress of the spell. The rate of magic depletion was continuing at a steady pace and it looked as if the reservoir of magic would be completely drained in another hour, maybe two. There had been no hitches and the outflow of magic remained stable and consistent. Satisfied that his plan was working he gave Miko a grin and sighed.

“We should have this done and be across the river before dawn.”

“That will be good.”

Nodding, James absentmindedly rubbed his forearm. The prickling sensation caused by the magnitude of magic utilized by his two orb-producing bubbles was growing annoying and a tad bit painful. In fact, for the last minute or so the discomfort had grown to rival what one feels after the circulation has been restored following an extended period of lying upon your arm in an awkward position.

When the pain grew more severe, he glanced back to the spell and with his mind’s eye, again examined its inner workings. What he saw made him gasp.

Fissures had ruptured along the span of the conduits. From one such fissure, a thread of magic had appeared. In the span of a heartbeat, dozens more sprang to life. The threads elongated, met up with each other, formed connections, then spawned others. By the second heartbeat, each of the two conduits drawing power from the seed’s reservoir of magic and powering the two bubbles emitting glowing orbs was fully entwined in a dense, convoluted network of these threads. The flow of magic spiked and so, too did the output of glowing orbs.

Both men gasped with pain and quickly shielded their eyes. The light was now so intense that neither could look directly upon it.

“What are you doing?”

“Something’s wrong.”

James focused more intently on the conduits and the growing network of magic threads. He was at a loss as to what was happening or how to stop it. Drawing more power to him, James began hacking away at the growing threads in an attempt to rid the conduits of their influence. For every one severed, three more sprang forth.

The prickling pain fought for his attention, but he ignored it and concentrated on stabilizing the spell. He sensed things were quickly spiraling out of control. Then all of a sudden, his mind’s eye grew cloudy and he could no longer focus on the spell. He fought for control but the magic grew erratic.

Threads latched onto the magic under his control and a backlash of power slammed into his mind. Crying out, he staggered backward.

“James!” Miko caught him before he could hit the ground.

Glazed eyes met his own. Slapping him hard across the face, Miko again yelled, “James!” No response.

The orb-emitting bubbles no longer merely produced them to fall in a gentle cascade. Instead, they now shot them halfway across the square; some arced up into the starlit sky before vanishing.

A feeling of impending disaster came over the High Priest. Lying his friend down on the ground, he covered James’ body with his own. Throwing everything he had into the shield protecting them, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Morcyth, protect us.”

“I tell you, he’s in trouble.”

Tinok continued holding Azhan around the throat. Everyone stood watching the events transpiring at the center of Tapu.

Scar glanced to the young mage. “What kind of trouble?”

Azhan did not know how to explain what he felt.

Shorty pointed back toward the city, “That kind.”

Blazing trails marred the night sky as balls of light erupted from out of Tapu.

“What should we do?”

Father Keller turned to Kip. “We wait, Novice. That is all we can do.”

Seconds rolled by as the intensity of the aerial bombardment increased; then a white flash followed almost immediately by an explosive detonation so powerful that it knocked them off their feet.

Azhan broke free of Tinok as they hit the ground. Battle training took over and he was instantly back on his feet staring at the wall of debris headed their way. It appeared as if every building in Tapu had disintegrated and now rode a wave of destruction toward them in an ever-widening wake.

Magical words flew from his mouth and an earthen berm six feet high and twenty wide rose protectively between them and the approaching outflow of stone.

“Down!”

Jiron grabbed Jira in a protective hug and threw himself against the base of the earthen barrier. The others followed suit as the ground shook and the air filled with a roar like the charge of a thousand Parvatis.

Horses screamed and fled, but they were not fast enough. The wall of debris hit the berm with a vengeance. Two sections caved in and another vanished altogether under the initial onslaught as parts of what used to be the city of Tapu struck with incredible force.

Clutching Jira all the harder, Jiron closed his eyes and knew they had lived their last. A section of berm less than an arm’s length away blasted outward when a massive section of wall with part of a staircase slammed into it. Despite the layer of earth, his back took a beating as the wave of destruction rolled over them…then it was past.

He waited a moment to see if a second wave might be approaching before he shook off the dirt covering his head and glanced around. Of their campfire there was no sign; starlight was all they had.

Groans came from all over and off in the distance, a horse screamed in pain.

“Father?”

“Shhh, Jira. It’s past.”

Their camp was no more

Light blossomed to his right and he turned to find Father Keller aglow with the light of Morcyth rising from a pile of debris with young Kip.

“Anyone hurt?”

A second point of light sprang into being as Father Vickor came to his feet. He glanced questioningly to Jiron.

Jiron shook his head. “We’re okay.”

“I think Potbelly is hurt.”

Scar’s proclamation was immediately followed by a dismissive curse from his partner.

Jiron motioned Jira to remain on the ground as he got to his feet. “Shorty?”

“Here,” came the weak reply.

The knife-thrower lay at an awkward angle, one leg bent at the wrong angle.

Father Vickor rushed to his aid and Morcyth’s glow soon encompassed the injured man.

Tinok emerged in the priest’s glow without so much as even a scrape. “Looks like we all survived.” Then he glanced to the darkness leading away from Tapu. “But I think we walk from here.” His eyes roved from one to another until they came to rest on Azhan. Narrowing, they contemplated the young mage.

Jiron followed his gaze and saw Azhan looking fearfully toward the knifer.

“He saved us.” Then to the mage, “Quick thinking.”

“It seemed the prudent thing to do.”

“Yes,” agreed Father Keller. “We would have suffered worse had you not acted.” He gave the mage a nod.

Tinok turned toward his friend. “He didn’t do it for us.”

Jira came to her feet and looked back to where Tapu lay in the dark. Of the lights that once illuminated the Empire town, there was no sign. It lay as dark as a graveyard on a moonless night.

“What of Uncle?”

Jiron glanced down to his daughter. “I’m sure he survived. He usually does.” Then to Scar and Potbelly, “Round up any horses that might have survived.”

From where Potbelly worked to get the campfire going again, he snorted. “I don’t think that likely.”

“Neither do I, but we need to find out. Take Kip and gather what can be salvaged from those that didn’t.”

“Me, too,” offered Jira.

About to argue the point, Jiron paused then nodded. “Yes, you help too. Father Keller?”

The priest turned from where he watched Father Vickor work on Shorty.

“You and I are going into Tapu.”

Father Vickor nodded.

Jiron caught Tinok’s attention then jerked his head toward Azhan. “Watch him.”

“Count on it.”

From behind him, Jiron heard Scar say, “Here.” When he turned, the Pit Master handed him a lit torch. “Be careful.”

“We will.”

Taking the torch, Jiron patted Jira on the head then he and Father Vickor set out at a run toward Tapu.

The going was rough as a patchwork of debris ranging in size from rubble the size of a man’s hand to entire sections of buildings marred the landscape. At one point, the torch illuminated the upper half of a bronze statue; head, torso, and an upraised right arm was all that remained.

As he ran, Jiron sought any sign that James and Miko yet lived. He had seen the pair encounter worse than this and come out with but scrapes and bruises.

Father Vickor remained silent; whatever fears he held he kept to himself.

The farther they progressed, the larger the rubble became. Not far after encountering an entire building resting on its side, the field of debris ended. Jiron slowed as he took in ground that looked like a giant plane had removed the top few inches of topsoil and everything else that had stood upon it. Raw earth, scorched in places, was all that remained of Tapu.

“Look!”

Father Vickor’s hand gripped his shoulder as the priest pointed to a light in the distance ahead. “They’re alive.”

Breaking into a run, they raced forward.

It soon became apparent that the light was the white glow of Morcyth. Miko knelt over James who appeared to be unconscious. When he was but a hundred feet away, Miko turned his head toward them.

“Ware the ground!”

The light radiating outward from the High Priest revealed a deep pit encircling where he sat with the Dark Mage. It began several feet from where Miko knelt and spread outward in all directions for quite some distance before rising to meet the ground. The deepest section lay on the far side where the seed had been.

Jiron slowed and came to a stop where the ground began its descent. Raising his voice he hollered, “Are you okay?”

“I am, yes. James, on the other hand, was knocked out prior to the explosion.”

Father Vickor came to stand next to Jiron. As he scanned the pit that separated them, he asked, “Reverend Father, do you require assistance?” Its depth was uncertain as the glow emanating from Miko failed to reach the bottom. What could be seen indicated the drop from where Miko sat was easily thirty feet, if not more.

“No. I have done all I can for him. Though I cannot wake him, I am confident that he is sleeping and will wake when his body no longer requires him in such a state.”

“Father Vickor.”

The priest glanced to Jiron.

“Return to the others and bring them here.”

“What of the Reverend Father and the Dark Mage?”

“They will be okay for the moment. We need to get the others and depart this place quickly before someone comes investigating.”

Nodding, the priest made obeisance to Miko then hurried back to the camp.

While waiting for the good Father’s return, Jiron walked the edge of the pit. The light of his torch revealed that from the lip, the slope gradually increased in angle until it was near a sheer drop. He continued around in the hopes of trying to discover a way of reaching Miko and James. Unfortunately, the pit only grew deeper and wider as he worked his way to the far side.

“He never does anything in half measure, does he?”

“No,” Miko replied, “he does not.”

“Try to get him to do things, and he balks. ‘It might alert the enemy,’ ‘Can’t take the chance of being seen.’ Then when he does…” Mumbling, he finished his circuit of the hole and came to a stop in his earlier position.

By this time, the glow of Morcyth had been reduced to where it only encompassed Miko. James remained on the ground next to him.

“We lost the horses.”

Miko nodded. “I thought as much. Did James’ items from his world survive?”

“I got Scar and the rest gathering what can be saved. We’ll find out soon enough.”

To have lost those suits James said would protect them from the deadly radiation infesting what once had been The Mists of Sorrow would be a sore blow indeed. How else could they retrieve the Star and survive? Offering up a prayer to Morcyth, Miko waited.

“Father!”

Jira’s cry announced the others’ arrival. She raced out of the dark and wrapped her arms around his middle. The embrace was short lived however, for when she saw the hole and the precarious position of James and Miko, she gasped and released her father.

“What happened?”

“Your Uncle. That’s what happened.”

A horse’s snort drew the knifer’s attention.

Scar emerged from the darkness with a pack slung over one shoulder. His hand held the reins of two horses that followed behind. Each had lost patches of hide and bore numerous, freshly healed scars. “These are all that Father Keller could save. Most of the others weren’t even alive.”

Jiron nodded.

“And Shorty?”

Potbelly entered the light’s radius. He jerked his head toward the darkness behind him. “Back with Father Keller. He’ll make it. The Father said he should return to his former vigor in a couple days.” Two packs were strapped to the Pit Master’s back and each hand held a sack.

The rest gradually came into view, each burdened with packs and sacks. Jiron cast a questioning glanced to the two horses free of encumbrances.

Noticing the unspoken question, Scar replied, “Father Vickor thought that considering their injuries, they should rest at least a day before we pack them up.”

Jiron nodded. “Did James’ equipment survive?”

“Most of it.”

“What didn’t?”

“That clicking box. A rock must have hit it square for it is half the size it used to be. Kip’s got James’ equipment.”

“James will want to see it when he comes around.”

“And the rest?”

“Pretty much undamaged other than a slight squashing when the horse carrying it hit the ground.” A low whistling escaped him upon seeing the pit and the small pillar of rock upon which James and Miko rested.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Never does anything small, does he?”

“Nope,” he replied then glanced around until spying Tinok and Azhan. He signaled his friend to bring the young mage to him.

“I need you.”

Azhan’s eyes met his then lowered them. “How may I be of assistance?”

Jiron pointed toward the pillar at the center of the pit. “Your master is unconscious and we need a way to get him down without hurting him further.”

Raising his gaze, Azhan saw the sincerity in his eyes; then he turned to take in the pit. “I don’t understand how I can help?”

“A little while ago you raised a six foot earthen barrier to protect us from annihilation.” He pointed toward the pit. “I want you to do the same thing here. Raise a rampart so they can walk off.”

Instant panic flared upon the young mage’s face. The effect of his words was not lost upon Jiron.

“I…I can’t.”

Tinok grabbed him by the hair and twisted his head around. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Easy, Tinok.” Jiron motioned for his friend to release Azhan.

When the knifer’s hand let go of his hair, Azhan practically collapsed to his knees. The young mage’s body started trembling.

Father Vickor came forward and knelt by his side. He laid a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “I think I understand.” Glancing up to Jiron, he said, “The Dark Mage forbade it. When he, uh, cursed him, the Dark Mage said ‘Summon magic, and suffer an eternity of pain.’ He’s afraid that if he does, the curse will take affect.” Turning back to Azhan, he asked, “Isn’t that right?”

Though still quaking, the lad relaxed somewhat. A tremulous “Yes,” was heard by all.

“But he has already performed magic,” stated Tinok.

The young mage blanched.

“A little more shouldn’t make any difference.”

Tinok’s reasoning did little to ease Azhan. The mage looked as frightened as a mouse in a room full of cats.

“My son,” began Father Vickor, “The Dark Mage would not punish you for doing such a deed.” Moving his hand to the young mage’s chin, he raised Azhan’s face to meet his own. “I will explain to him that circumstances demanded you to use magic and he will have mercy.”

“Aye,” agreed Scar. “It’s for his own good, after all.”

When the mage looked to him, Jiron nodded. “That’s right.”

Then Azhan turned toward Tinok. The knifer’s expression remained as stone.

Jiron caught his friend’s attention and silently gestured for him to add his voice to the chorus.

Tinok glanced to Father Vickor. “Couldn’t you do it?”

The priest shook his head. “Not as well as him. His berm was precise and well formed. I have no experience in such magic.”

“Ours is a different sort,” Father Keller added.

Frowning at the young mage, Tinok gave a curt nod. “Fine. He shall not be held to account.” Then his face hardened even further. “But stray from your task, and I’ll end your life.”

Patting Azhan on the shoulder several times in light succession, Father Vickor got to his feet. “I’m sure that will not be necessary.”

“No,” Azhan replied. “It won’t.”

Coming to his feet, he whispered to Father Vickor, “Could you stand with me?” There was something about the priest that he found comforting.

“If you like.”

Father Vickor walked with the young mage to the edge of the pit.

The eyes upon him made it difficult for him to connect to the magic. He knew that if he didn’t get this right a knife would be in his back in a flash. It took several moments to quell his shaking nerves and reach a point where his mind was sufficiently at peace to find the magic.

The distance was greater than any he had attempted before. The sheer amount of earth needing moved might be more than he could master. The one consoling thought that steeled his will to undertake this task was that if he succeeded, it might prove to The Dark Mage his worth. This had to be done right. Maybe lead to more than Master and Slave. Dare he hope, Master and Apprentice?

Taking hold of the magic, he sent his senses into the ground. As he had been taught, he spread a network of magic throughout the dirt to either side of where he wished the earth to rise. He took extra care not to send magic beneath the pillar upon which his master lay. Such would result in toppling the precarious perch. Once the magic encompassed a wide enough area, he altered it slightly and began pulling it toward a central line stretching from where he stood and across to his master.

The ground shook and an earthen rumble came from beneath their feet. Raising his hands, Azhan made the ground dance to his will. Dust blasted upward as the shaking and rumbling increased. No longer could the pit be seen for the sheer volume of dust particles filling the air.

As the dirt and rocks moved together they compacted, then rose. Realizing his initial net had not caught enough material to create the earthen rampart, he extended it outward and downward to bring in what was required.

His mind’s eye kept track of it all. This was his forte. Not many of his peers could do this, and not many of those above him either for that matter. Pride sought to disturb his concentration so he banished it and kept focused on the raising of the berm.

“It’s caving in!” a voice cried.

Off to his left, Azhan sensed the surface above an area from which he had drawn earth had collapsed

“Touch him not,” warned Father Vickor.

As to whom the priest warned and why, Azhan gave little thought. His concentration was for the steadily rising berm alone. It now rose over halfway to the top and still more earth was being pulled in to elevate it yet higher.

Minutes ticked by as he worked. With every inch in height, the required stone became more and more. When it came to within five feet from ground level, he deemed that to draw more would risk toppling the pillar of earth upon which his master lay.

The rumbling stopped and the ground grew still as he let the magic go. He reached to the heavens and took hold of the winds. This was a skill none of his former masters knew he possessed and one that he had worked diligently on in secret. A gentle breeze began to blow to push aside the dust cloud and reveal his creation.

A level strip of earth, three feet wide, now lay from the edge of the pit and extended at a slight downward angle until connecting to his master’s pillar of earth, five feet from the top.

Father Vickor patted him on the shoulder. “Nicely done.”

“Thank you.”

Azhan received several nods of approval and more than a few grins. Glancing to Tinok revealed no sign of approval. The stony visage remained firmly in place. He was sure the knifer would love nothing better than to kill him on the spot.

Jiron went to where it began and tested it with his foot. “Is it strong?”

“Yes,” Azhan replied “It will easily hold your weight and maybe another. I would advise against testing it further.”

“Scar, come with me and let’s get them off of there.”

“You got it.”

Together, Jiron and the Pit Master hurried across. Scar remained below while Jiron climbed up to join Miko and James. The Dark Mage remained unconscious.

“I thought for sure that would have woken him.”

“It would have if he but slept. This is something more.”

“More?”

Miko nodded. “But not permanent. I believe he will come out of it in a day or two.”

“Can he be moved?”

“Yes. His physical injuries are minor. It is his mind and spirit that require healing.”

“Good.”

Kneeling next to his friend, Jiron slipped his arms under James’ shoulders and knees. Then with gentle pressure, he lifted him as he rose to his feet and carried him to where Scar waited. After setting James on the ground once more, he eased him over the edge and transferred him to Scar. Once the Pit Master was on his way back with James, Jiron turned to Miko.

“This is going to attract everyone in the area,” he said as he gestured to the surrounding devastation.

Miko nodded. “Probably.”

“Can he travel?”

“If kept upright, traveling should not aggravate his condition.”

“Good.”

Once Scar made it across, Jiron hopped down to the berm with Miko following suit. Together they crossed to where the others had gathered around James.

“Put him on the horse that suffered the least amount of damage.”

Scar glanced to Jiron.

“Neither one is in good condition.”

“Still, we need to depart immediately.”

Nodding, Scar enlisted Potbelly’s aid and they managed to get James mounted.

The horse looked none too sturdy, but it did appear marginally stronger than the other.

To Kip, Jiron said, “Get up there and keep him upright.”

The novice looked skeptical.

“Me?”

“Is there another here whose weight that horse can bear?”

Though nervous about being in contact with someone as infamous as The Dark Mage, Kip realized there was little choice. Swallowing his anxiety, he steeled his nerve and mounted. He then wrapped his arm securely around James’ chest.

Scar let go and the corner of his mouth crooked up slightly as he said, “I wouldn’t let him fall. The last person who did now boasts a tail and walks on four feet.”

Kip’s eyes widened.

Father Vickor came to Kip’s side. “Pay him no attention. He’s just having a bit of fun at your expense.” When Scar chuckled, the priest said, “Wait until he needs healing again, young Kip.”

Scar’s humor quickly vanished.

“Then we’ll see how funny he thinks this is.”

“Aw, didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Enough of this!”

Jiron’s exclamation silenced them all. “Let’s go.” He took the lead and headed for the bridge. Jira walked at his side.

Chapter Twenty

They heard the water long before it became visible in the moonlight. Debris clogged it throughout a mile-long stretch. Water that had once flown still and quiet now crashed against a network of building sections, trees and the odd statue. White froth sent plumes of mist into the air.

Jiron stood where the Tapu Bridge had once spanned the river. A jagged outcropping of worked stone on the far side was all that remained. The others gathered around as he took in the roiling, debris-choked river.

“We’ll never make it across.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he nodded silently to Scar.

“Have the mage erect another of his earthen berms,” suggested Potbelly.

Jiron turned to Azhan. “Think you can?”

The young mage, already fatigued by his earlier ordeal, took but a moment to consider it before shaking his head. “It’s not just raising the earth, but fighting against the power of the river. It is beyond me.”

Father Keller joined them. “We could go back to the main road and cross there.”

Scar shook his head. “Too far, especially on foot.”

Glancing back to the river once more, Jiron then turned toward where Kip sat on horseback with arm around James’ chest to keep him upright.

“No telling how long he’ll be out.”

Then to Azhan, “If a patrol were to come investigate, from which direction would be most likely?”

He pointed downriver. “Captain Aziri and his band patrol the northern shore near the bridge to Inziala. It’s a full day’s ride from here.”

“How many men does he have?”

“Fifteen when we passed through not long ago.”

“Do they have a mage?”

Azhan turned to Tinok and nodded. “Hikai.”

“Powerful?” Jiron asked.

“Slightly less skilled than myself; he has been trained for combat so do not dismiss him lightly.”

Jiron looked to Miko who nodded, confirming Azhan’s truthfulness.

To Scar he asked, “Have any more of those drugged darts?”

“Plenty.”

“Okay, then.” Turning downstream, he said, “Let’s go.”

Kip looked worried when he said, “Shouldn’t we go upstream? Away from the patrol?” He glanced from Jiron, then Scar then to Tinok. “Aren’t you afraid that our presence will be discovered?”

Tinok turned an unreadable gaze upon the young novice. “He’s counting on it.”

“We needed horses, Kip,” Father Keller explained.

“The desert will kill us if we try to cross it on foot,” added the knifer. “Water is scarce with many miles between oases.”

“Oh.”

Jiron took the lead with Jira by his side. The others fell in behind.

Somewhere near the rear walked Azhan with Tinok ever present at his back. But it wasn’t the knifer that filled his thoughts as they left the ruins of Tapu. Rather, it was the inescapable fact that they meant to take down Captain Aziri and his men for their horses.

That alone would not cause Azhan much worry. Captain Aziri was a heartless man who took pleasure in the torment of others. But his friend, Hikai, rode with Captain Aziri. And with the Dark Mage unconscious, there would be no one to speak up and prevent his death, as had happened to him. He knew Tinok would slit Hikai’s throat without a second thought. Gaze moving to the figure riding slumped forward in the grasp of the boy, he hoped his master would waken before it was too late.

They walked until the sun neared its apex, then found a place in the lee of a small hillside that afforded some protection against prying eyes. A watch was set, a meal taken, and then those not on guard duty took what rest they could.

The day passed uneventful. Miko and his priests took turns looking after James. Other than a grunt or two, and a mumbled word now and then, he failed to stir. When the sun neared the horizon and the shadows grew long, they tried to waken him but all attempts failed.

“Will Uncle be okay?” Jira asked Miko.

“I believe so. His mind needs to heal and it keeps him asleep so it can.”

She looked worried for her uncle, but trusted in Miko.

Jiron once again set a brisk pace. Two hours they walked before a halt was called.

“We’ll set up camp here,” he announced. “Gather wood for a fire.”

Father Keller glanced around at the expanse of open grassland that Jiron had chosen. Even in the deepening gloom, he could tell there was little cover.

“Kind of exposed here, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

He turned to Shorty. “How are you doing?”

The knifer knew what he was really asking. Spying Scar pulling a dried piece of beef out of his pack, he drew a knife and threw. The blade sailed through the air.

Scar had the piece of meat near his mouth when he suddenly backpedaled with an expletive as the knife struck the meat and plucked it from his grasp.

Jiron grinned. “I guess you’re fine.”

Sword drawn, Scar rounded on Shorty. “No he isn’t!”

Potbelly intercepted his friend, his barely concealed amusement did little to calm Scar’s anger.

“Miko, you and your priests stay here by the fire with James. Kip, you too.”

He turned to Azhan and grew thoughtful.

“I will do nothing to interfere with your attempt to kill Captain Aziri and his men. Their deaths matter little to me.”

Again, Miko nodded at Azhan’s truthfulness.

Tinok caught the young mage’s attention. “You do anything and you will be the first to die.”

Azhan nodded gravely for he could see the threat naked upon the knifer’s face.

Jiron turned to the others. “Alright, let’s get ready.”

Jira laid sleepily against her father’s side. With eyes half-lidded she could see the campfire burning in the distance. She didn’t like sitting out in the dark and cold, though she did have her blanket wrapped snuggly about her.

She moved slightly to adjust an uncomfortable position and felt her father’s arm snake around her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he whispered.

“I wish we were by the fire.”

“I know. So do I.”

Sleep had come and gone twice before she felt her father move from her side and stand. The sound of approaching hoof beats banished all traces of sleep.

“Stay here, Jira.”

She could feel more than see her father looking down at her.

“I will.”

Then he was gone.

As the riders approached, she pulled her blanket tighter about her shoulders. Before long, over a dozen riders entered the fringe of campfire light.

Scar stood as the riders slowed and came to a stop. His gaze quickly swept over the eight swordsmen and six crossbowmen arrayed behind an older soldier bearing a battle-worn countenance that had to be the leader. To the leader’s right rode a robed man of youthful appearance; the mage.

Moving more to the leader’s left, Scar stepped forward and said, “Good evening, gentlemen.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potbelly edging to the right…and the mage.

Behind Scar nearer to the fire lay James, with Miko, his two priests, Kip and Azhan. Somewhere out in the darkness Tinok, Shorty and Jiron should be moving into position.

With features set in perpetual disapproval, the leader nodded. “And to you.” His eyes flicked to those by the fire and settled upon the prone figure of James.

“What business brings you into the Empire?”

“Looking for talent, my friend,” Scar replied. “Men looking to make their fortune with blade, knife or knuckle.”

“Knuckle?”

Scar nodded. “I run a specialized entertainment venture where patrons come to watch demonstrations of skill and daring in the field of combat. It’s called The Pits, maybe you have heard of it?”

The leader failed to respond. He was about to speak when the robed mage next to him suddenly exclaimed, “Azhan!”

Potbelly brought the small pipe secreted in his hand up to his lips and blew.

The mage plucked a small dart from the skin of his neck. A moment later, he slumped forward against his horse’s neck.

Chaos erupted among the crossbowmen. The two in the middle fell from Shorty’s knives. Jiron struck the horses of the two on the left and their rearing threw the riders’ shots wide. Then grabbing the cloak of one, he pulled him to the ground. A quick stab and it was over. Another of Shorty’s knives took the other and to the right, Tinok’s knives flashed and the remaining two crossbowmen fell lifeless. Not a crossbow bolt had found a mark.

The leader reached over to his mage and grabbed him by the robe. Shouting something in Empire, he pulled the boy up and gazed into the mage’s glassy eyes. Not seeing a response, he let him go.

He shouted to his men as he drew his sword. Knives continued flying from the darkness and men fell.

Tinok and Jiron were now among the soldiers. Their knives flickered in the firelight as blades found marks. Potbelly joined them. In less than a minute, the leader had lost all but two men.

Turning his horse, he aimed straight for Scar and charged. His two men followed.

Scar’s two swords were held at the ready as the three riders came for him.

Shorty took out one before the leader could close with Scar. Not even slowing, the leader hacked down and Scar easily deflected the attack to the side with one sword.

As the leader raced by, Scar struck out with his other and scored along his side. Though blood flowed freely, the leader continued racing out into the night.

A thud behind him caused him to turn to see Potbelly standing over the last of the soldiers.

“Shorty!”

“I’m out, Jiron.”

“Damn! He’s getting away.”

He turned to Miko.

Miko shook his head. “We are not battle mages. That is not where our power lies.”

Restraining the curse threatening to be unleashed upon the High Priest, he turned back to where the night had swallowed the leader. The sound of hoof beats faded into the night.

Suddenly, the screaming of a horse broke the night followed by the sound of thrashing.

“I slowed him down for you.”

Jiron turned to see Azhan looking at him. Giving him a questioning glance, he nodded and was about to head out when he saw Tinok disappear into the night.

“Thanks.”

As Jiron turned to assess the battle’s aftermath, Azhan said, “The mage is a friend. Please spare his life.”

Jiron saw the pleading upon the young mage’s face. “I can’t let an enemy mage live.” He then nodded over to where James lay unconscious. “Not while the Dark Mage remains as he is.”

“I will vouch for him.”

“You forget yourself, Azhan. You are only alive because the Dark Mage has said it is to be so. You can vouch for no one.” Removing his knife, Jiron walked toward where the enemy mage lay upon the ground, his intent to end his life crystal clear.

Azhan watched as Jiron walked toward one of the few friends he had in this world. Glancing anxiously to the Dark Mage, hoping beyond hope for his master to awaken and forestall the murder of Hikai. But such was not to be.

Fear for his friend warred with fear for what the Dark Mage would do should he intervene. With every step Jiron took, the chance that Hikai would be spared diminished. When Jiron stopped and reached down to take hold of Hikai’s hair so as to raise his chin for a clean strike, Azhan knew that though he may well die in ways most unpleasant, he knew also that he could not do nothing and allow his friend to die.

Summoning magic to him, he slammed a blast of air into Jiron. At the same time, he sprinted forward. So unexpected was his act that Jiron was knocked ten feet backward.

Air swirled around him as he ran. A knife blown off course by the gale sailed before his face. Dust filled the air as he closed the distance to his friend. Then he leapt forward.

Pain erupted in his thigh as he hit the ground next to Hikai. Maintaining concentration as had been drilled into him time and again by harsh masters, he kept the magic. Now sending it down, he caused the ground to shake as earth rose around them. Upward it rose to thrice the height of a man, then he brought the upper edges together until he and Hikai were safely cocooned.

It was at that point that he relaxed. A knife hilt protruded from his thigh and his first impulse was to remove it. But first he tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt. Then with teeth gritted, he pulled the blade from his leg. Immediately, blood gushed forth. He used the strip of cloth to bind the wound closed.

There was little more than room enough to move in his earthen cocoon. Air was going to be a problem, but as long as he held the magic, he could tell where those outside were, then it was a simple matter to form a small opening on the opposite side to allow fresh air in.

Hikai remained out. All he could do now is lay back, relax, and pray his master awakened soon.

“Do something!”

Jiron faced off with Miko at the side of Azhan’s cocoon.

Miko remained calm. “And what would you like me to do?”

Gesturing to the wall of earth, Jiron said, “Bring this down so we can get in there.”

“I and my priests can only act in ways that would cause harm to another when it would prevent hurt to either ourselves, or others. I sense no threat here. And should we bring this down, harm would befall those within.”

“No threat?” exclaimed Tinok. Coming to stand by Jiron, the knifer glared at Miko. “How about two enemy mages that would sooner kill us than look at us?”

“I do not believe they will seek our ruination.”

Tinok cursed and spat on the ground.

“We can’t just leave them in there,” Scar added. “Nor would it be advisable for us to remain here until James awakens so he can deal with it.”

Shorty took a knife’s hilt and scraped a furrow in the side of the cocoon only to watch the dirt shift and remove the knifer’s handiwork.

After Azhan sealed himself within the earth mound with the other mage, they had tried digging into it. Each time, the dirt would reform and all their effort came to naught.

“I think we should stay.”

All eyes turned to Kip.

“Why is that, young novice?”

Kip met Miko’s gaze. He felt slightly unnerved being the center of attention. He cleared his throat nervously then said, “Ever since we left the temple, the one thing above all else that we have striven for was to keep the Dark Mage’s presence a secret.” He gestured to the earthen cocoon. “If we leave here without dealing with this, then his presence will assuredly become known.

“Azhan said the only patrol in this area was this one, so we should have time before another shows up to investigate. They have no water, no food, and the sun is going to make it feel like an oven on the inside before much longer.”

“He does have a point,” agreed Shorty. “I know I would feel better if we waited until James came out of it before going deeper into the Empire.”

“We don’t know if he’s right,” argued Scar. “As far as we know, another is about to appear at any moment.”

“Then we take them out as we did the two before,” Potbelly said. “I don’t foresee a problem remaining here a day or two longer.”

Miko nodded. “I am certain it would speed his recovery if travel could be postponed.”

Jiron looked less than satisfied with the current state of events. But seeing no alternative other than leaving the two mages behind, he finally nodded. “We stay.”

To Scar he said, “I want you and Potbelly to keep an eye on…” he pointed to the earthen cocoon, “this. Should an opening present itself, hit ‘em with darts.”

“You got it,” the Pit Master replied.

When the sun was high in the sky on the third day, James opened his eyes.

“Uncle?”

Head aching like a party of demons dancing on the inside, he turned to see Jira staring at him with wide eyes.

“Wh…what happened?”

“Father!” she exclaimed. “Uncle’s awake!”

“Praise the gods,” Jiron said as he came to kneel by his friend’s side. “Thought you would never awaken.”

James squinted against the glare and used his arm to shield his eyes. His efforts did little to diminish the pain.

“How bad was it?”

Scar laughed. “Tapu is gone, my friend. You nearly took us with it when it blew.”

Miko nodded. Kneeling next to James, he laid his hand upon his forehead and the pain subsided to a more tolerable level. “If not for the quick thinking of your uh, slave, only you and I would have survived.”

“Sla…, oh, you mean Azhan.”

Again, Miko nodded.

James glanced around at the faces staring at him but failed to see the young mage. “Where is he?”

Jiron pointed off to the left. “There.”

At first, James couldn’t make out exactly what it was that he saw. Then the massive cocoon grew to clarity.

“He’s in there with another mage,” Jiron explained. “Claimed he was a friend. A patrol came by and we took them out. But before the mage could be dealt with, Azhan attacked and raised the ground to form that.”

“Azhan attacked? With magic?”

Jiron nodded. “He hit me with a gust of wind.”

Miko held out a water flask and James drank greedily, then sat up. The motion restored some of his headache, but it remained tolerable. “How long has he been in there?”

“A little over two days,” answered Scar. “Might be dead for all we know.”

“No,” Shorty replied. He took his knife and again made a furrow in the side of the cocoon. Even before he finished, it began filling itself in. “He’s still alive.”

“And using magic,” Tinok asserted. “You forbade him the use of magic.”

“If he hadn’t used magic during the blast,” argued Father Vickor, “none of us would be here. Also, we practically forced him to use magic a second time to create a bridge so we could remove the Reverend Father and the Dark Mage from their precarious perch. He didn’t want to, but we argued him into it.”

James took another long drink of water as he listened.

“So let me get this straight. He first used magic to save everyone’s life. Then, at your request, he used magic again to rescue Miko and myself.”

Several nods affirmed his statements.

“Then, to save the life of his friend,” he glanced to Jiron, “he used wind to blow you aside. After that, he made that thing.”

“That is all true,” Miko said.

“It seems to me that had he intended to hurt anyone, he would have used something more devastating than a gust of wind. I’m sure he knows far more lethal magic than that.”

He extended his hand and Jiron helped him to his feet.

“Let’s see if we can get them out of there.”

“What of the other mage?”

Using Jiron’s shoulder to steady himself, he turned his attention to the earthen mound and sighed. “For Azhan’s sake, he better have been worth it.”

After first making sure his aching head would not interfere with the calling of magic by summoning an orb, he closed his eyes and sent his senses into the mound.

He was immediately met by resistance. Upping his endeavors, he blasted through Azhan’s defenses and knew he had sent the young mage staggering backward.

“Both are alive.”

Alive, but scared to death. The fear inside was so thick, he probably could have cut it with a knife.

Looking to Jiron, he said, “Get everyone back a ways.”

As the others moved to a safer distance, James once again gathered magic to him and in a powerful push, dislodged the top half of the mound and sent it sliding down the other side. Several smaller ones later and the two young mages were revealed.

They knelt toward him with heads bowed low so their foreheads touched the ground. A dusting of dirt covered them. Azhan’s friend trembled nearly uncontrollably.

He let the dread linger in the air a few moments before stepping forward. The crunching of dirt beneath his boots caused Azhan’s head to rise ever so slightly and his eyes peered up at his master.

“Rise, Azhan.”

The young mage lowered his eyes as he climbed to his feet.

Putting as much menace and promise of doom and horrific retribution as he could into his voice, he said, “You have disobeyed me.”

Azhan paled. For a moment, James thought the boy would pass out.

“Not only did you use magic, but you attacked one of my men.”

With visions of Glerhan dancing through his mind, and a case of the shakes threatening to loosen his bowels, he said, “F…forgive me, M…master.”

“Why?”

Head raising slightly, Azhan’s gaze rose to meet that of his master. “Why?”

“Yes, why? Why would you do such a thing if you knew death would follow? You knew that magic was forbidden you.”

Azhan glanced from his master to those standing behind him, then back to James. “I hoped I would be forgiven since it was with magic that I saved the lives of all who traveled with you. And…”

“And what?”

He glanced to where his friend still trembled with forehead against the ground. “Hikai is a good mage and would be a great benefit to you, Master.”

James heard a chuckle from behind but dared not glance back to see who it was. It might have been Miko.

“I see.”

“He will be as faithful as I, Master.”

Warring thoughts fought for supremacy. He either had to kill the young mage, or take him as he had Azhan. Neither prospect set very well with him. But killing someone just because not doing so would be inconvenient had never been something he could do.

“Have him rise and face me.”

Hikai trembled as he raised his head and gazed upon the features of the one who had taken down the Empire. As he rose, the knocking of his knees nearly dropped him to the ground. Somehow he managed to make it to an upright position.

James gazed into the terror-filled eyes for just a moment before turning and motioning Miko to come forward. Once the High Priest stood by his side, he did as he had with Azhan. Summoning magic he began, “I am the Dark Mage…”

Chapter Twenty-One

Not waiting for Hikai to regain consciousness after being inducted into the service of the Dark Mage, they tossed him across the saddle of one of their newly acquired horses.

With the two that survived the blast, and eighteen taken from the patrol, they now had sufficient mounts for all with seven left for baggage. James was annoyed that the Geiger Counter had been wrecked. At least the radiation suits had survived. Without them, getting the Star would be nearly impossible for a very long time. He gazed at where Azhan stood next to the horse bearing the unconscious Hikai.

“Now you have two.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Miko approach.

“Yes, but what do I do with them?”

“Do? What does any master do with those in his charge? Take care of them.” He paused a moment before adding, “Teach them.”

“Teach?”

“Azhan has a fire in his belly to be a Master. Who better to learn from than the Dark Mage?”

James hadn’t allowed his thoughts to travel so far. “So, they are, my apprentices?”

“I am certain that is how Azhan thinks of himself. Hikai, I think is just glad to be alive. The reality of his situation has yet to fully sink in.”

“But, I don’t want apprentices. I’ve never wanted that.”

Miko shrugged. “You have them now. Just traveling with you will teach them more than they could ever hope to learn as they were.” Noticing how James grew ever more troubled, he added, “You could always kill them.”

“No. I could never do that.”

“And turning them loose is not an option?”

James shook his head.

“So, you have two apprentices.”

“Great.”

As if he knew he was the topic under discussion, Azhan turned just then and looked their way.

“Man, what have I gotten myself into?” He met Azhan’s gaze for a moment then turned to Miko. “Can I trust them?”

“For the moment, yes. What tomorrow will bring I do not pretend to know. But right now, yes, I believe they can be trusted.”

Visions filled with pails of water and an army of brooms settled upon him. Sighing, he turned and took his horse’s reins, swung up into the saddle, and said, “Let’s go.”

As the others mounted, he headed for the river. Jira bounced along on a brown mare and flashed him a smile as she came abreast. “What now, Uncle?”

“Now, Jira, we make all speed for our families.”

Squealing with delight, she dropped back and repeated that to her father. Jiron nodded and caught up with James as he came to a halt near the river’s edge.

“Nearest bridge is over a day away.”

James glanced to him. “We cross here.”

Without giving Jiron a chance to reply, he summoned the magic and a shimmering field spread outward from the bank. It quickly spanned the distance.

“What about not alerting mages?”

“Too late for that now. We need to put as much distance between Tapu and us as fast as we can.”

Behind them, excited exclamations arose from his new apprentices.

“You think that’s something,” Potbelly began. “You should have been there the time he brought down the walls of Korazan.”

“Korazan,” Scar scoffed. “That was nothing. How about the time he raised a storm and stripped the flesh from an entire army?”

With a constant stream of his exploits following, James nudged his horse out onto the shimmering field. The horse was skittish with the rush of the water just below. In places where the water ran roughest, white crests crashed against the underside. Not only were the horses unnerved, but so too were most of the humans riding them. It wasn’t an easy feat to ride nonchalantly across water that should the field fail, meant their deaths.

Once on the far side, James waited until the last rider cleared the bank before banishing the shimmering, magical bridge. Azhan and Hikai looked at him in new wonder. Whispered exchanges passed between them in rapid succession.

Miko’s amusement at his discomfort irritated James. The last thing he needed right now were two young mages hanging around. Some of the things he could do were best left unknown to the world at large.

“Scar, take the lead with Potbelly.”

As the duo moved forward, James turned to Miko. “Have your priests watch my two, uh, apprentices.”

“As you wish.”

James turned his horse as Scar led them from the riverbank and headed toward the road running alongside. Once before they had followed this road in their search of Miko when he had been taken as a slave. The world had changed much since then. He had changed much as well. It scared him at times, the power he could command. Too many times throughout history men had wielded such power, maybe not magical, but great power nonetheless and very few had avoided its evil temptations. Will he be strong enough to remain true to his heart and soul? He hoped he would.

Far to the east, from atop a ridge three men gazed down into a desolate valley. Darkness deeper than the night obscured what lay below. So palpable was the evil rising from the depths that it made their skin crawl.

Two armed men, each bearing twin long swords stood to either side of a man dressed in plain leathers.

“This is the last,” Leathers said.

“It won’t be easy,” said the man on his right.

“It is our mandate.”

Leathers steeled himself, for he knew full well that what waited below was powerful indeed. Within that darkness they would find the bastion of the High Priest of T’Lea, as well as the remainder of the god’s priests. He sensed their presence was known and that the dark god’s source of power on this world lay somewhere below. The Heart of Darkness, a misshapen mass of black stone beat with power most evil. Destroy that, and never again would T’Lea bring misery to this world.

The moon was on the rise and to the east, the sky slowly brightened with the coming dawn. Turning his back on the valley, he led the two swordsmen to an area some two hundred yards away where they waited for the first rays of dawn to shine over the horizon.

Brighter and brighter grew the sky. When the first ray struck the face of the man in leather, he said, “Let us begin.”

From one of five packhorses, the swordsmen removed four ivory poles inscribed with intricate patterns of symbols. Each stretched four feet in length. They took them and drove them into the ground to form the corners of a square, six feet by six.

Leathers motioned them back and moved to the far side of the square so it sat between him and the valley. He then produced a pair of ivory wands, each identical to the larger quartet in the ground, though only a foot in length. Holding them upright, he summoned the power of his god.

“Gyomias, Lord of this world, lend us, your servants, power to purge the evil that lies before us.” Light erupted from the wands.

A broiling of the darkness within the valley drew the swordsmen’ attention. Drawing their long swords, they interposed themselves between the evil and the man in leathers.

Power, both good and wonderful filled the man in leathers. The wands shone ever brighter as more and more power filled them.

A dark shape emerged from the dark depths of the valley. Man-shaped yet horribly disfigured, it left a trail of faint, dark mist in its passing. Sores covered its body and the eyes were darker than obsidian. Though it loped as if maimed or in great pain, it covered distance rapidly. Another emerged after it, then another.

One swordsman glanced to the other, “Aega’s.”

Never taking his eyes from the minions of T’Lea, the other nodded.

Aega’s were created from the darkest souls that had been delivered into T’Lea’s realm. Only those who never performed an act of good, who had dedicated their lives to the basest and most evil atrocities were said to be granted such an exalted position. These were not beings from this world.

“They must not interfere,” Leathers announced.

“Fear not, my lord.”

Power suffusing the wands flowed to the nearest ivory pole. When it hit, light flared and then continued on to the others until the area within was ringed by a nimbus of bright light. Magic passing to the poles increased in ever greater amounts until they outshone the rising sun.

The swordsmen braced for the Aega’s’ attack. As the first came near, the power of Gyomias suffused their swords. The air darkened before them as the Aega’s exuded a dark miasma. The holy light radiating from the swords pushed back the darkness. The swordsman on the right stepped forward. His sword descended toward the attacking creature and light exploded. A shock backlashed up his arm at the impact and caused him to stumble backward. The Aega’s screamed, fell hissing and steaming to the ground. Writhing but a moment, it soon grew still. Recovering quickly, the swordsman moved back into position as he and his partner awaited the attack of the next.

Behind them, the light coming from the poles took on a golden hue. Leathers spoke a word of power and the ground rumbled and heaved. The area encompassed by the glowing boundary collapsed inward and light shot forth like a geyser.

“The Way is open!”

Moments after the eruption shot forth, nodules of light began coalescing. Each only half the size of the human that had opened the

Way, they quickly solidified and unfolded gossamer wings as they left the stream of light and took flight. Though indistinct at first, they quickly transformed into small, winged bear cubs with eyes of gold and fur of silver. They were Gyomar, servants of the god Gyomias.

The second and third Aega’s were dealt with quickly, yet more boiled forth from the dark recesses of the valley. Their evil hit the swordsmen like a wave of filth. Beneath such an onslaught, the holy light from their swords began to dim.

Three of the fell minions came at them in a rush. Four swords wove a wave of light that threw them back and sent their dark souls to their god. Yet more rushed forward.

Behind them, Leathers kept the stream open and more Gyomar passed through. The first to enter this realm saw the two swordsmen and the peril they faced. Soaring high into the air, it opened its wings fully and caught the light of the morning sun. It drew the rays into itself; its body glowed with the combined power of the sun and the god Gyomias. For a second it rivaled the brilliance of the sun, then a beam of light shot downward from it and struck an Aega’s that had closed with the swordsmen.

The light shattered the dark miasma encompassing the fell creature and severed its connection to T’Lea. When the beam ended, the creature was no more. As the Gyomar once again gathered power to it, another of its brethren came full into this world. It too glowed with power as its wings unfurled; a stream of power later and another Aega’s fell.

With the aid of an ever increasing circle of Gyomar in the sky, the two swordsmen were able to hold their own. Beams of holy power from above eradicated the unholy minions of T’Lea and soon, none were even able to close with the swordsmen.

“Attend me.”

They turned at Leather’s command, sheathed their swords and moved to stand to either side of him.

“This cannot be held open much longer,” he said.

Dozens of their god’s holy servants held positions in the sky above. More still rode the light shining through the Way. Beams of holy righteousness continued to rain upon the enemy as they sought to reach Leathers. So quickly were they being destroyed, that few made it more than a dozen yards from the lip of the valley.

“Doesn’t look as if we’ll need many more.”

Leathers shook his head. “We will need all the Gyomar we can get.” He glanced across to the valley. “This is far from over. Draw your swords gentlemen.”

Four blades flew from scabbards. Holy light flickered along their lengths as they added their power to that of Leathers. A score more Gyomar passed through before the Way faltered.

Leathers felt the gate between worlds imploding upon itself. Altering the outflow of magic, he created a barrier that fully encompassed the four poles and the glowing area within. No sooner had it formed, than the nearest pole shattered. A backlash of power obliterated the remaining three and raw power sought to smash through the barrier and consume those foolhardy enough to be in the way.

But the barrier held. Commanding the power of his god, Leathers contained the explosion, dissipated the magic, and closed the Way. Once satisfied that all was as it should be, he released the magic. He leaned against the swordsman to his right and wiped his brow.

“Milord?”

Giving the swordsman a reassuring pat on the shoulder, he smiled. “Such a feat is not easy.”

“Indeed,” replied the other swordsman.

Beams of light grew infrequent as the stream of Aega’s dwindled then dried up altogether.

“Come. Our work here is not over.”

Leading the two swordsmen, Leathers walked through the shattered remains of the poles and crossed to the edge of the valley.

Malevolence radiated outward like heat rising from a scalding desert. Somewhere within that Stygian darkness lay T’Lea’s high priest and the last of his followers.

A blast of pure hatred and evil erupted from below. Holy light enveloped Leathers and the two swordsmen. The attack struck and the power of Gyomias prevailed.

In the sky above, Gyomar moved to form a ring encompassing the valley. Leathers waited until the valley had been fully encircled before raising his hands.

“Gyomias,” he intoned, “your servant calls upon your aid to rid this world of a festering malignancy. Lend us your power so that good may prevail over evil and the world made a better place.”

Power suffused him and he reveled in holy ecstasy.

“Now, my Gyomar.”

As a massive surge flowed from him into the valley, beams of holy light descended from each Gyomar in the sky to rain righteous might upon the darkness protecting those below.

Roiling like a sea in a hurricane, the darkness recoiled from the light of the Gyomar. Fell magic reinforced the strength of the dark shroud. Dark magic rode waves of malevolence on their way to the Gyomar in the sky above,

One cried out as the evil god’s power ended its place in this world. The rest of the Gyomar shifted position to maintain a concentric circular presence surrounding the valley.

While the Gyomar sought to destroy the darkness, Leathers worked to penetrate the dark and seek out the source far below; but the evil shroud of darkness barred his way.

Another Gyomar fell to the fell magic. Then another; but the dark shroud shielding the valley had weakened. Ten more Gyomar fell before the darkness shattered. For the first time since T’Lea came to this world, the valley knew the warmth of sunlight. What was revealed caused Leathers great sadness. For where the sunlight struck the valley floor, bones from an untold number of victims were revealed.

Most laid ignobly upon the ground, looking to have been just tossed without thought or care after the priests had no more use for them. Some were displayed in horrific caricatures; human bones set and fused together to form monstrous shapes of hellish beasts. One such could be seen rising above the others and constructed of nothing but skulls.

Leathers heard the swordsman to his right say a prayer to Gyomias. “Indeed,” he whispered before adding his own prayers for those whose lives were warped and destroyed by such an evil.

The Gyomar remained in the sky above as the trio made their way down from the valley’s lip. Far below at the lowest point sat a temple made of darkest stone. Rising over a hundred feet and spanning a full acre, the edifice had but one window set in the middle of the front over the only entrance visible. Wide enough to accommodate three men walking abreast, the opening was rough-hewn and a faint dark glow pulsated from within. Dark malevolence surged outward with each pulsation of the dark light.

They remained silent as they worked their way through a landscape born of hellish nightmares. Cracked ground, stunted trees, indistinct shadows where no shadow had a right to be, and permeating it all…fear.

It oozed from the ground. With every step it sought to overthrow their courage but to no avail. The power of Gyomias ran too strongly in them for the fear to take root and flourish.

The bones filling the valley gave testament from where the fear came. Torture and pain were the twin pleasures of T’Lea’s priests. The suffering of their victims was ambrosia to them. Untold millennia of torture had left its residue within the very rocks. Instead of filling Leathers with dread, however, each step stiffened his resolve to see that T’Lea hurts no one ever again.

As they drew closer to the building, dark light riding a wave of terror shot through the opening.

Radiant aura met the dark tide as Leathers called forth the power of Gyomias. His stride faltered not. Righteous might overcame the evil and cast it back within the temple.

Less than two-score feet from the temple, Leathers paused to calm his mind and allow Gyomias to fill his thoughts. Within was evil unspeakable and he would need all Gyomias’ holy might to overthrow what lay within.

Shapes, darker than night, moved deep within the opening.

“Torments.”

Leather’s sighed, then nodded sadly. He had hoped not to encounter any, but known such was unlikely. Each represented unspeakable acts upon so very many innocent lives; lives that could have known love, joy and happiness. Instead…this.

Torments came into being from a combination of dark magics and the tortured death of a hundred souls. The creation of one took the industry of vile priests performing acts of fear and torture upon their victims. Each soul had to be wrenched from its host, twisted and defiled, then torn asunder to be incorporated into the newly forming Torment. Their touch withered flesh; their cries drove men insane. Unable to survive contact with the sun they skulked in the dark places of the world.

Moving forward, Leathers summoned the power of Gyomias.

Three Gyomar lit upon the ground between the humans and the dark opening. Arraying themselves in an arc before the entrance, they unfurled their wings so that the tip of one touched that of its neighbor. Silver fur shone in the morning sun.

Leathers let loose the magic while at the same time, rays of brilliance shot down from dozens of Gyomar circling overhead. Magic met brilliance and the three Gyomar let loose a massive growl.

Light of magnificent holy might shot forward and slammed into the dark maw of T’Lea’s temple. The darkness within sought to bar the light from intruding into its domain, but the power of Gyomias was not to be denied. Light won out and penetrated the length of the tunnel. Torments were shattered, their twisted essence could not withstand the power of Gyomias.

Less than ten seconds had the light lasted, yet that had been sufficient to see the end of every Torment gathered to keep Leathers out. When the light vanished, the passage was clear.

“Let us finish this.”

Stepping forward, Leathers moved to enter the last bastion of T’Lea on this world.

The trio of Gyomar parted as he and the swordsmen passed, then fell in behind and followed.

Skeletal remains had been incorporated within the construction of the walls. Skulls watched as the humans pressed forward into the dark, hellish domain.

Running straight for a short duration, the passage came to a junction. Leathers paused as he considered whether to continue straight, take the right-hand passage, or the steps leading down to the left. Feeling the greatest concentration of evil coming from below, he turned left and descended. A Gyomar remained at the top of the steps.

The steps circled to the left and made four full revolutions before ending at a small room. They were greeted by a score of small, creatures. Diminutive and twisted parodies of humans, they radiated pure malevolence as they attacked.

Magic blasted half before they could take their second steps. Leathers’ two swordsmen stepped forward and their four blades wove a tapestry of destruction that readily overcame the rest.

“Not as difficult as I expected,” one swordsman stated.

Leathers shook his head. “Not yet, no. The real test will be when we reach the High Priest.” Deep in the bowels of this place, he could feel the Heart of Darkness beating. Quenching its life would be no simple thing.

The room held two sacrificial tables, each stained a red so deep, only the death of countless victims could account for it. One end of each table tapered toward a funnel that fed into a black urn. Thankfully, both urns proved to be empty.

A single stone door barred their way to the deeper reaches. Leathers gestured toward it with a nod of his head and a swordsman crossed to it. Taking hold of the ring, he pulled and the door opened on well-oiled hinges.

It swung open much quicker than expected. Darkness rolled forth and taloned hands reached for the swordsman.

He leapt backward as light erupted from the two Gyomar. Shrieks sounded beyond the doorway. His comrade hewed a hand from a twisted arm.

“Open it!” shouted Leathers.

The second swordsman pulled the door wide and a score of Torments recoiled from the Gyomar’s light.

Righteous magic blasted through the opening and dark shapes fell. The Gyomar added its light and creatures of darkness wilted beneath the onslaught.

Continuing the attack, Leathers passed through the doorway. The odor from the withering Torments was noxious. Their flesh boiled and hissed as Gyomias’ power banished their fell spirits.

Sensing that no more creatures stood to bar their way, he reduced the glow to just enough to illuminate the passage. The light did little to dispel the sense of dread and foreboding that literally oozed from the walls. Bones from hundreds of victims formed a macabre mosaic on either side as the passage progressed.

They came to another room. A sacrificial altar dominated the center. Large enough to accommodate three victims, it was awash in fresh blood. The bonds which would have secured the sacrifices lay open and empty.

Where the passageway before had held a mosaic of bones, the walls of this room seemed to be nearly completely comprised of bones. None were complete, all had been broken in a manner that indicated that great suffering had been inflicted.

Two doors, one to their left and the other to their right stood closed. The swordsmen moved one to each.

“Careful,” Leathers warned.

They well remembered what had been waiting behind the last door. The swordsman on the right waited while his comrade slowly pulled on the handle. As before, it swung open silently.

Ready to dart backward should an attack materialize, he opened it further. When none came, he swung it open fully to reveal another passageway. Turning to his comrade, he said, “Your turn.”

Drawing one of his swords, the swordsman placed his hand on the handle. The other swordsman moved into position, both swords at the ready.

“Open it.”

As the door cracked open, Leathers felt a pulse of evil belch forth from below. It sundered the door and blasted into the room sending the two swordsmen flying.

The might of Gyomias filled Leathers as he countered the attack. Stronger by far than anything yet encountered, it took everything he had just to hold it at bay. This had to have come from the Heart of Darkness. They must be close.

Gyomar moved to the fore. Their power, added to that of Leathers, overthrew the attack. When the dark tide subsided, he turned his attention to his men.

They picked themselves off the floor. Shaken and bruised, but otherwise unscathed, they once again took position near the door.

“Better let me take the lead from here.”

“As you wish, Milord.”

Stepping aside, they waited for Leathers to pass into the passage then followed close behind. The pair of Gyomar brought up the rear.

Not relinquishing the power of his god, Leathers glowed with righteous might. Even the warm, reassuring light of Gyomias could not banish the cold feeling of terror permeating this place. Mosaics with complete human skeletons as centerpieces lined both walls at ten feet intervals.

Twisted and gnarled, the bones hardly resembled those of humans, but that they had once been human vessels filled with hope and promise, there could be no doubt. Eyeless sockets watched as the intruders passed. Leathers strode purposefully, ignoring the unseen forces. At the fourth pair of mosaics, his stride faltered. For the skeletons at the centerpiece were those of newborn babes.

“The promise of life, stolen.”

He glanced back to the swordsmen. “If for no other reason we do this, we do this for them.”

The swordsmen nodded silently, Leathers’ sadness mirrored in their eyes.

With renewed determination, he set off, pace quickened to see an end to this.

Another six pairs of these ghastly mosaics fell behind before a deeper darkness moving ahead caught his eye. Coming to a stop, he held up his hand.

“What is it, Milord?”

“I’m not sure.”

Moving like an oily cloud in the dark, it made its way toward them. “Stand ready.”

Specks of red flashed like insects within the dark mass. As it drew closer, the flashes could be seen moving about, like dust drawn from the ground in a gale. There was definitely power contained within; they could feel it.

Magic surged outward in a blaze of glory from Leathers’ outstretched hand. Holy might struck the dark mass. Red specks exploded outward in a shower of sparks as the power of Gyomias rent asunder the evil construct.

But instead of falling, the specks gained in speed as they shot toward Leathers.

Calling once more upon his god, light suffused the passage. Specks exploded in microbursts upon contact with the field of righteousness leaving a fetid, cloying odor reminiscent of an old grave.

The swordsmen started forward but were forestalled by Leathers’ upraised hand.

“Wait.”

Something was not right. An unidentifiable foreboding settled upon Leathers as he watched the fine dusty residue of the obliterated sparks settle to the ground.

A moment passed, then another. There was something….

Turning to the swordsman on his right, he said, “Give me two coins.”

The swordsman dug a pair of coppers from his pouch and handed them to Leathers.

Holding onto one, Leathers tossed the other into the passageway ahead. It struck the stone floor, bounced once, then rolled a dozen feet further before curving and coming to a stop against the wall. Its thin trail could barely be seen within the field of fine dust particles.

Taking the next coin, he summoned the might of Gyomias, and allowed the glow to encompass and pass through the coin for several moments. When he released the magic the metal emitted a soft, barely perceptible glimmering. He then tossed it as he had the first.

Before it hit the floor, a cloud of dark particles exploded upward and enveloped the coin. Moving in a violent vortex, the dust whirled and twisted as it spun the coin over and over, never once allowing it to reach the ground. Then as soon as it had begun, it ended.

Corroded, pitted and but a quarter of its former mass, the coin landed upon the floor. All traces of the glimmering were gone. Even what little luster the coin had originally held had been removed. It was as lifeless a piece of metal that any of those in witness had ever seen.

One swordsman looked questioningly to Leathers.

“It attacked the holy power of Gyomias.”

The swordsman nodded, then turned his attention to the span of passageway lying before them. Fifteen feet or more lay coated in the fine dark dust. “How do we get past?”

“We trust in Gyomias.”

With that, Leathers motioned for them to step back. Closing his eyes, he summoned the power of his god and glowed like the sun.

The edge of the dust field rose in response, as if seeking the source of the holy aura.

Stepping forward, Leathers prayed for protection. On his fifth step, dust erupted.

A vicious maelstrom slammed into him, seeking, prying, all the while trying to destroy that which was good and holy. He felt the evil of it leeching away the power. But more was given to sustain him.

Step by step he worked his way toward the middle of the maelstrom. Each step grew progressively harder as he was buffeted by what felt like gale-force winds. When at last he reached the middle of the field, when the entirety of it was active and fighting to destroy him, he stopped.

Raising his hands, he turned his gaze upward. “Gyomias!”

A wellspring of power surged outward from within. It infused the righteous glow, caused it to grow a hundredfold times more luminescent.

Cracks formed in the maelstrom from the onslaught; ribbons of light broke through in an ever expanding spider web-like network. Fell and dark powers sought to strengthen the attack. But they could not endure. Finally the maelstrom simply disintegrated and the presence of evil was gone.

Leathers held the power for a full two heartbeats longer before allowing the might of Gyomias to recede. When the glow faded to soft ambience, all traces of the dark dust were gone.

“Praise, Gyomias.”

Leathers glanced back and nodded. “Indeed.”

Striding forward, he passed another half dozen of the macabre mosaics before the passageway ended at the mouth of a massive dark, cavern.

A broad stairway led downward; darkness obscured the cavern’s ceiling; jagged points of stalactites protruded into the light from somewhere far above. A waft of fetidness rose from the dark depths below. Within that darkness, the high priest of T’Lea waited.

“We are here, gentlemen.”

Leathers paused before the first step. “No matter what awaits us, Gyomias will see us through. Leave the high priest to me; the remainder… purge.”

“What of captives?”

The swordsman received a look of sadness. “Nothing can remain. So Gyomias has commanded.”

“Yes, milord.”

Wings unfurling, the two Gyomar leapt and soared outward into the upper reaches of the cavern. Weaving in and out among the stalactites, their nimbus threw back the dark. But down below, there was a blackness their light could not overcome.

Power rumbled within that deeper darkness. Energy of the fellest kind rolled outward, toward those upon the steps. Swirling clouds of hatred boiled forth and upon leaving the darkness, materialized into dozens of T’Lea’s pets; diminutive creatures barely three feet in height; misshapen, twisted, and exuding pure malevolence and hate.

“Let’s end this.”

Righteous power imbued Leathers and the emanation put the glow generated by the Gyomar to shame.

The swordsmen preceded him down the steps. Blades danced and creatures fell. When the first wave was overcome, another materialized and the battle continued.

Leathers paid little heed to the battle swirling around him. He knew these creatures were little more than pests for his swordsmen; easily dealt with. The true battle remained deep within the darkness. He felt it; a beating of malevolence that gave these creatures life. No victory could be achieved as long as the Heart of Darkness continued to leach goodness from the world.

Battle raged as the trio descended. None of the pets made it through their web of blades. Upon reaching the fringe of the deep darkness, the last fell and the cavern was again silent.

“Gyomias has no power here, mortal.”

Ignoring the taunt, Leathers held out his hand. The glow brightened but the darkness held fast. Continuing to increase in luminosity the might of Gyomias soon grew painful and eyes were averted. Still the darkness held.

Dark powers lent it strength and it withstood the onslaught. Finally, the blinding light faded until all that remained was a soft glow surrounding Leathers.

He sighed. “Steel yourselves, gentlemen.”

With that, he stepped forward and passed into darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Two

All sight and sound vanished. He felt the power of Gyomias within him, knew that it radiated outward keeping the evil at bay, yet there was no visible sign that it was so.

Cloying, fetid, and sorrow-filled were but pale descriptions of the reality within this darkness. It sought to enter him, fill him, ruin him; but Gyomias held him safe.

The two swordsmen remained at his side; he sensed this more than anything else. Reaching out, he laid a hand upon each allowing their god’s might to flow to them, filling them, guiding them. When his hands broke contact, a tenuous strand of power remained; kept them connected.

Augmented by the power of Gyomias, their senses picked up indistinct shadows within the greater darkness. Trusting in their god, swords struck and evil fell.

Leathers sought The Heart of Darkness. He felt its malevolent beating, giving strength to the creatures that infested this place.

Death awaits, mortal. It hungers for your pain.

His mind’s eye directed him toward a flight of steps leading down. There welled forth the greatest concentration of evil. Giving his swordsmen direction through the link of power, they preceded him into the opening.

T’Lea’s pets threw themselves forward only to be cleaved and destroyed by blades shining with righteous power. Torments joined the fray to their ruination. Step by step the trio descended into the heart of T’Lea’s High Temple.

Power surged and struck.

Pausing only a moment, Leathers countered with the might of Gyomias and overthrew the attack. Its source lay not far ahead; he could now clearly sense its location. Many priests were gathered round the Heart; twenty, maybe more.

“We have arrived.”

The wave of Pets and Torments crashed upon the rocks of righteousness and were sundered. Leathers gave them little heed; his focus was on the Heart and those surrounding it. When the last minion of evil was vanquished, darkness of the fellest kind built around the Heart. With its every beat the evil deepened.

Leathers felt priests dropping as the Heart drained their life, drawing it into itself; adding to its power. Through a miniscule strand of magic twining from him, back out of the darkness, and to a Gyomar standing just without, he sent the message, “Stand ready.”

Others stationed in a continuous line-of-sight along the temple’s dark passages to the surface unfurled their wings. Dozens took flight above the valley wherein lay T’Lea’s last bastion on this world.

Vile evilness oozed from everywhere in answer to the Heart’s call. If not for his strength of will and faith in his god, Leathers would have succumbed to the hopelessness and sorrow inundating him.

…beat…

Your cause is hopeless

…beat…

All is lost

…beat…

Your faith is false

…beat…

Die!

A thought from Leathers launched Gyomar into action.

Those in flight above the valley burst into light. Catching the sunlight, amplifying it, adding to it their essence, they sent it in a flash of blinding righteousness to the solitary Gyomar deep within the valley positioned before the temple’s entrance. It caught the power and sent it to the next stationed deeper within the temple.

From one Gyomar to the next, the power of the sun traveled nearly instantaneously through passageways that had never before known more than the brightness of a candle or torch. The walls fairly screamed in protest as righteous light sterilized a millennium of evil.

Upon reaching the cavern, it slammed into the deeper darkness concealing the lower reaches; ripping it asunder.

As fell power surged from the Heart, the light struck Leathers. It blasted outward from him in righteous fury, shattering the Heart’s attack and slamming into the Heart itself. In that moment, the world seemed to pause.

Then a fissure opened through the Heart’s center and a wail of supreme hatred and misery boomed forth.

Leathers funneled every bit of power into the fissure. Evil fought to seal the rift, but without T’Lea’s priests and worshipers, the Heart no longer had a wellspring of power upon which to draw. With a final surge, Leathers cracked the Heart asunder.

Dark power blasted forth. Leathers and the swordsmen were knocked off their feet and crashed into the steps. Unbelievable vileness washed over them, like a river of filth, then it was over.

The light of a Gyomar at the top of the steps filtered its way down. Leathers glanced up at it and sighed.

“Are you all right, milord?”

Offering Leathers a hand, a swordsman helped him to his feet. His comrade stood next to them with sword in hand.

“You can put that away,” Leathers said. “The only evil that remains is but a faint echo.”

They were in a small room with an altar as black as night as its centerpiece. It and the floor surrounding the altar were awash with blood. Off to the left lay dozens of recently sacrificed people; men, women, and children.

Before the altar lay what remained of the high priest; naught but ashes and within that pile of ash, lay the shattered remains of the Heart. Bodies of T’Lea’s last priests flanked him to either side.

One swordsman stepped toward the shattered Heart.

“Here.”

Turning, the swordsman took the golden pouch Leathers held out.

“Place it in this,” Leathers said. “And do not touch it with your hands.”

Nodding, the swordsman replied, “Yes, milord.” Kneeling, he used the tip of his knife to slide the Heart’s remains into the pouch.

The other swordsman stood off to the right at the top of a descending staircase. He gestured to the dark depths. “Milord, shall I investigate?”

“Yes,” Leathers replied. Calling forth the power of Gyomias, he caused a glowing nimbus to surround the swordsman to illuminate the way. “But touch nothing.”

As the swordsman disappeared down the steps, Leather crossed to the stack of bodies. He could almost feel the terror and pain still radiating outward from T’Lea’s victims. Raising his hands, he prayed as he moved them to and fro above the deceased, allowing the soothing radiance of his god to settle their spirits.

“Find your peace,” he said. “May Gyomias aid you in reaching the loved ones that have gone before.”

The radiance diminished and he lowered his hands. The feeling of terror was gone; replaced with one of relief. If for no other reason, he was glad this world would forevermore be rid of the evil that T’Lea and his priests inflicted upon the innocent. They had been a cancerous infection he was proud to say it had been his destiny to eradicate.

“Milord!”

Turning to the steps the swordsman had descended, Leathers moved to the opening. “What did you find?”

“We have survivors.”

“You know our missive.”

There was a pause before the swordsman said, “Milord, one is a priest of Asran; another is a child, a girl.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Leaving the swordsman to finish collecting the remnants of the Heart of Darkness, Leathers descended the stairs to a narrow rough-hewn passage. The radiant glow from the swordsman emanated from a room twenty paces beyond the base of the steps.

Therein Leathers found the swordsman standing at the far end of a slightly wider passage in front of a line of cells that extended some hundred feet or so. The doors to all but one stood open. It was before that closed door that the swordsman beckoned Leathers to his side.

A man of advanced years and wearing a robe naming him a priest of Asran stood just within. Clutching his side with a fearful look was a young girl who couldn’t have had more than seven summers behind her. He bobbed his head as Leathers approached.

“Milord,” the old man said, “your man here explained what you came here to do; my heart sings to hear that T’Lea is no more.” His expression darkened as his gaze flicked from Leathers to swordsman, then back. “And… and what else you are commanded to do.”

He wrapped an arm around the girl tightly as tears came to his eyes. “But, milord, my daughter remains untouched by the evil of this place.”

At that, Leathers arched an eyebrow. “Your daughter?”

“Yes. Asran has blessed me after many years of devoted service with a child. I beg of you, do not allow his gift to be wasted.”

Leathers gazed to the child and pity welled within. Yet, his orders had been most explicit. Allow none found within the temple to live. Then he noticed a body lying at the rear of the cell; a woman with dark hair. The dress she wore had seen better days. Her left arm lay bare and the three dots forming the points of a triangle with lines running between them yet not touching were clearly visible where it had been tattooed onto her skin. His eyes narrowed.

“Her mother by chance?” he asked, gesturing to the body.

The priest of Asran nodded. “Yes.”

“How is it that a priest of Asran fathers a child with one of Dmon’Li’s?”

“After the war, she left the priesthood and in my travels, I found her. She forsook her false god and from that day forward did naught but good. She was a good wife and mother.”

He could see the conflicting emotions within Leathers. Hoping to sway him into saving his daughter, he said, “Please, milord. I beg you to take her with you. Spare my daughter for she is yet an innocent soul.”

Caught up in a moment of thought, the last words spoken by the priest snapped him back to the here and now. He gazed at the girl intently. Then reached out to lay his hand upon her head.

She shied back out of reach.

“It’s okay,” her father said. Urging her forward, he coaxed her to within reaching distance of Leathers.

Terror was etched clearly upon her face.

Leathers laid his hand upon her head and it began to glow with the power of Gyomias.

She shrieked.

He grabbed her hair in a grip she could not break. Then sent his senses into her.

Thrashing and screaming, she tried to break free.

“What are you doing?” her father demanded.

He slammed his fist into Leathers’ forearm and dislodged the offending hand from his daughter’s head.

The glow vanished and Leathers took a step back.

Next to him, the swordsman stood with sword drawn. He glanced uncertainly at him. “Milord?”

Leathers didn’t answer. He stared in disbelief at the girl.

“Milord?” the swordsman asked again. Just then his partner arrived, golden pouch in hand.

Confusion and uncertainty vanished as resolve took its place. Leathers turned his gaze to Asran’s disciple. “Kill the priest. Bring the girl.”

Fear passed momentarily across the father’s face, then he nodded.

The girl shrieked as the cell door opened. Her father pushed her toward the swordsmen and one grabbed her. He then knelt, prayers to his god issued forth and were quickly silenced when the blade fell.

Leathers felt true remorse at the death of a man who had only done good throughout his life. But he dared not allow him to live; so were his orders.

Screaming, “Father!” the girl struggled to free herself from the swordsman and reach his side, but the swordsman’s grip was too strong. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and then followed behind Leathers as they headed back up the steps.

Her crying filled the passageways where so much evil and horror had once lived. The few remaining Gyomar accompanied them until they departed the temple.

Shadows filled the valley; the sun was very near the horizon. Leathers gauged they had less than an hour before sunset.

Only eight of the multitude of Gyomar remained; the rest had given their essence in destroying the Heart of Darkness. To them, Leathers said, “Take us to the rim. We have one final task before the setting of the sun.”

Gyomar took hold of the mortals and launched into the air.

From where she was securely held in the arms of a swordsman, the girl screamed again. Though he offered her words of comfort, her screams did not subside in the slightest until they were safely deposited upon the western lip of the valley.

The flight had taken time, time Leathers could ill afford to waste. The sun had reached the horizon and there wasn’t much left before he would lose its cleansing rays.

Pointing to the girl, he said to the swordsmen, “Hold her.”

“Milord?” one questioned.

“Take her by the arms and hold her secure.”

Not understanding, but obeying their master, the two swordsmen took the girl by the arms and held her fast.

The final rays of the sun bathed the scene and shone full upon her. The clouds above were breathtakingly beautiful; and Leathers felt a profound sadness for what he was about to do. But he understood the need and dared not shirk his responsibility.

He came around behind the girl so he would in no way cast shadows upon her. Placing a hand upon her head, he called upon the power of Gyomias.

She screamed and thrashed all the harder.

“Forgive me, Gyomias for what I am about to do.”

Tears filled his eyes as he drew his knife. Her father had forced her to accompany them thinking they would keep her safe. But such could never be. Sending a powerful burst of holy power into her, he tried to calm her. It had the reverse effect. Screaming turned to shrill gibberish; thrashing transformed into seizure-like spasms.

He plunged his knife into the breast of the girl, just below the heart. Then with a mighty upward draw, felt ribs part.

Her screams diminished and thrashing quieted as blood gushed from the wound.

Gyomar circled just overheard. They gathered the light of the setting sun unto themselves, growing every brighter with every passing second.

Leathers gripped the severed ends of her chest and pulled it apart in a sickening, snapping of bones.

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.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“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.

A half-eaten dried apple and a strip of jerky saved from dinner rested in her pocket. She hoped her Little Brother would be around, the one with a dark patch in the shape of a crescent moon around the outer edge of its left eye. Seeing that Scar’s attention was focused away from where she lay, Jira slowly crawled from her bedroll and tip-toed to the opposite side of camp, then disappeared into the dark.

“Jiron!”

Tinok’s voice rang out in the early predawn light. Seeing his friend gaze his way, Tinok waved him over.

A bank of clouds tinged red by the as yet un-risen sun drifted lazily their way, foreshadowing inclement weather. Tinok had the early morning watch and was some hundred feet from camp. Jiron hurried over.

Before he reached his side, the knife fighter saw the grisly sight. Blood was everywhere along with mangled and shredded pieces of flesh and bone.

“What happened?”

Tinok shook his head. Bending low, he used a stick to flip over one of the larger chunks. Dark fur covered the other side. “Looks like some kind of animal was slaughtered.” He let the chunk go and turned back toward Jiron. “Blood’s still fresh. Couldn’t have happened too long ago.”

Jiron flashed him a questioning look and Tinok nodded. “Last night while we slept.”

Others from the camp began to gather.

“Any idea what kind of creature this was?” Kip asked.

Tinok used his stick to move the head in order to get a better look at it. “I’d say some kind of dog. There are definite canine features and teeth.”

James took in the sheer size of the remains. “Never seen one this big.”

“Neither have we,” agreed Scar.

“But we get the next one.”

Everyone turned to Potbelly.

The Pit Master shrugged. “Would make a good show in the Pits.”

James rolled his eyes and sighed. “So, no one heard anything?”

Everyone shook their head.

“How is that possible?” asked Shorty. “This close to our camp we had to have heard something.”

“Magic?” asked Jiron.

“Not that I noticed.” James turned to his apprentices and they shook their heads.

Jiron started to ask Azhan a question but then stopped. He looked around the group. “Where’s Jira?”

“Jira!” he shouted.

Instantly his knife was in his hand as he raced back to camp.

“Jira!”

Movement in the camp drew his attention. His pace slowed when he saw her rise from her bedroll.

“Father?” she asked sleepily.

He sheathed his knife. “We’re getting ready to head out.”

“Yes, Father.”

“…might have wandered this far,” James was saying as he returned to the grisly scene.

“Wandered?” Jiron asked.

“From The Waste.”

“Could be,” agreed Father Vickor. “Lots of open, uninhabited land between here and there. Unlikely to encounter anyone.”

“But that still does not explain how it was killed so close to our camp and no one heard a thing.”

Miko nodded. “At least no one was hurt.”

James stared at the beast’s remains for a moment longer. “From this point on, we double the guard.”

“Agreed.”

He glanced to Jiron. “Set up a schedule. Make sure my, uh, apprentices are paired with either me or Miko.”

“Will do.”

“Now,” James said as he glanced to the brightening horizon, “let’s get out of here before more wander this way.”

The sun broke above the horizon as the group set out. With the memory of the grisly scene still fresh in their minds, they scanned the horizon nearly continuously. Most gazed with worry and trepidation, two, however, did so with anticipation.

“Pit three might be large enough for it,” Potbelly was saying.

“I don’t know,” argued Scar. “From the size of the remains I’d say we would need something larger.”

“Well, we have been thinking about expanding,” replied Potbelly. “Might have enough saved to buy out the neighboring block.”

Scar laughed.

“What?” his fellow Pit Master asked.

“It wasn’t so long ago we barely had two coppers to rub together. Now we’re talking about buying an entire city block.”

“Going to need additional barracks; not to mention a larger building for the healers,” Potbelly added. “The temples get a bit pricey.”

“I heard that,” Miko hollered.

As his priests gained experience, more and more showed an aptitude for healing. He lent them to the Pit Masters for a fee. While less expensive than other temples would be, his fees were still eating into their profits.

James grinned at his friend as the two Pit Masters continued their speculation on the size of arena they would need to construct and the hundred other sundry details showcasing a creature that size created.

“I hope they are not expecting us to catch it for them.”

Miko shook his head, then nodded to the two pack mules behind the pair. “Supposedly, they brought all kinds of magic items to aid in acquiring strange and lethal beasts.”

“One born every minute….”

“What?” Miko asked, confused.

“Just something a famous man said where I came from; P. T. Barnum I think it was.” When his friend continued looking confused, James said, “Means I think they got cheated.”

“Ah,” he replied, then chuckled. “Probably.”

The hills around which they planned to skirt came into view several hours later. Riders, far off on the horizon, most likely a patrol rode from the southeast at a hurried pace. James brought his group to a halt.

“Azhan,” he said, calling his apprentice to join him. “That the patrol you were mentioning?”

The young mage gazed intently at the riders for several moments before nodding. “Yes, Master. That would be Captain Edi and his men.” Spying three robed riders he added, “Three mages ride with them.”

“Know who they are?” Scar asked.

“Akim, Hassan, and Farhad rode with him last I heard,” he replied. “Cannot make them out clearly, Master, so I do not know for sure if they still do.”

“Are they any good?”

“Akim has skill equal to mine. Hassan and Farhad are not so powerful.”

“Well, we shall give them a wide berth,” James said. “I do not wish for any more apprentices.”

Jiron tried to hide his grin but failed miserably.

“Wonder where they are going so quickly?” asked Tinok.

“Don’t care,” James replied. “Just as long as they aren’t coming this way.”

When it looked as if the riders planned to ignore their presence, James got them moving once again. Taking it at a slower pace, he had Scar and Potbelly take point as they left the road and angled more to the east.

“Azhan, how far is their base from here?”

“Not far, Master. There is a cave within the hills with several buildings they use for storage and barracks.”

The riders continued flanking the hills until reaching the road where they proceeded to turn and follow it south. Once the last rider passed from sight behind the closest hill, James had them quicken their pace.

Ten minutes later, a massive explosion erupted from the general direction of where the riders had gone. A second and third explosion followed closely on the heels of the first.

“Battle,” Hikai announced.

“I would think so,” agreed Jiron.

Further concussions and flares of fire rose above the hills. James’ skin prickled from the magic use. “Think Lord Cytok is launching an offensive?”

“Likely,” Azhan agreed. “Battle is very common in this area.”

“Scar, get us out of here before it comes this way.”

The Pit Master nodded and they quickened their pace.

For ten minutes the battle continued to rage. At fifteen, the prickling of James’ skin began to grow at an alarming rate. It felt as if magic was being used nearby, and it was powerful. His apprentices were rubbing their arms as well.

“Heads up,” he hollered. “Feels like the battle may be drifting this way.”

Scar kicked his horse into a gallop and they raced off nearly due east to put as much distance behind them as possible.

Azhan felt the increased prickling of his skin even though the sounds of battle drew further and further away. Remembering what he saw back at Tapu just prior to the blast, he turned his gaze upward.

Scattered clouds against a backdrop of blue made for a beautiful scene. To the east a larger bank of dark clouds promised rain or worse in the not too distant future. Yet it wasn’t the spectacles of nature that captured his attention; rather it was the large expanse of shimmering directly over their heads. It took a moment but soon realized it moved quickly toward the sounds of battle.

“Master…?”

James turned to his apprentice. Seeing him staring at the sky, he turned his gaze upward. Others did as well.

Kip was the first to notice. “What is that?”

James shook his head when he finally made it out. “I don’t know. Never saw it before.” Then he turned a questioning look to Azhan.

His apprentice met his gaze and shrugged. “I do not know what it is either, Master.” He paused a moment before adding, “I have, however, seen it before.”

“Where? When?”

“Tapu. The night of the blast.”

At that point the eastward edge reached the scene of battle. Two explosions sounded back to back, then a moment of silence.

James felt the prickling on his skin increase to a nearly painful degree…

Wham!

The sky lit up with the most massive explosion yet; a whole hillside exploded outward amidst balls of fire. A second later, the concussive wave struck. Not nearly a tenth of the degree generated at Tapu, but enough for them to feel it and to startle the horses.

After that, the sounds of battle died away as did the shimmering field.

James turned to Jiron and shook his head. “They must have a powerful mage indeed to do that.” He glanced to his apprentice and saw Azhan’s look of skepticism. “You don’t think so?”

“I do not know, Master.”

Azhan glanced to Hikai who shared his doubts, then turned back to James. “There are only a handful of mages left who could command such power.”

“One must have been there,” Scar said. “Perhaps Lord Cytok decided to end the stalemate in this region and sent in his powerful mage.”

“Maybe,” Azhan shrugged, though his tone said he didn’t believe it.

James stared off in that direction.

“What do you think?”

He turned to Jiron and then glanced uneasily to the sky now devoid of shimmering. “I don’t know.” The prickling had completely subsided as well.

“Want to check it out?”

“Take a bit to return,” Scar speculated indicating he felt it was a waste of time.

“Not to mention such a display will assuredly attract notice.”

Turning to Miko, James nodded. “True.” Then a moment later, he pointed to the sky. “And you have no idea what that was?”

The high priest shook his head. “Unfortunately, Morcyth does not tell me everything.”

To Azhan, James said, “Are there any towns or villages nearby?”

“A few, Master. One less than an hour from Captain Edi’s camp.”

James sighed resignedly. “We dare not risk it.” Turning to Scar he said, “Let’s continue with as much speed as possible.”

“You got it.”

Heading out with Potbelly at his side, the Pit Master kicked the sides of his horse and raced toward Cyzt.

Chapter Twenty-Four

A day and a half later, most of the later half being graced with rain, the outlying buildings of Cyzt came into view. Scar, Potbelly, Azhan and Father Keller went into town to buy supplies while the others circumvented Cyzt and continued on for another two miles to the south. Azhan was there to mediate with the locals while Father Keller was there to watch Azhan despite Miko’s assurances that he posed no threat.

“He wants to be a powerful mage more than anything,” he told James. “And it is unlikely he would take any action to jeopardize being The Dark Mage’s apprentice.”

“I’m not going to bet my family’s lives on it.”

So, Father Keller joined the foraging party. Just the four would raise less suspicion than if the entire party went. Scar and Potbelly had some notoriety in the area for recruiting Pit Fighters and that would be a viable cover story. Azhan would be their liaison with the locals as it were while Father Keller just another recruit.

For the most part, Cyzt was a bustling town with numerous merchants vying for their coins, even with a slight drizzle in the air. They drew looks from those they passed, but those looks tended to turn quickly away upon spying Azhan’s mage’s robe.

A tossed coin to a young lad sheltering under an overhang produced directions to Master Aki’s chandler’s shop. Two young girls in slave attire sat upon stools to the left of the door. As Scar and the others approached, they came forward with rags and bowls of water and proceeded to wash the mud from their boots.

“It is the custom in some places,” was all Azhan said.

“James would like this,” laughed Scar.

Potbelly dug an elbow in his ribs and gave him a knowing look.

“Oh, right.”

Boots much cleaner, the girls opened the door and they entered,

A largish man in tan leathers stood off to the right helping a middle-aged and balding man who looked to be from the north. He saw them enter and hollered, “Be with you in a moment.”

Scar nodded and then proceeded to the table with travel ration packs stacked in a neat pyramid. When Father Keller started to speak, he waved him to silence then jerked his head toward Master Aki and his customer.

“…the war all over again,” the customer said.

“How exciting.”

“Flames rose into the sky and rocks the size of your head rained down upon my lady and myself.”

“Were you hurt?” Master Aki asked.

“Sad to say, my lady was struck in the shoulder and is now with the healers.”

Master Aki tut-tutted. “I pray she will make a full recovery?”

“Oh, yes. She is a tough old bird. Healers said she would be good as new, just needed a day’s rest to recuperate.”

In a whisper, Potbelly said to Scar, “Think that was the explosion we saw?”

“Has to be.”

“We rode like the Dark Mage himself was after us.”

Master Aki shivered. “I can imagine.”

“But I doubt we have to worry about the Dark Mage showing up,” the man continued. “Heard his island was attacked and he and his whole nest of devils were destroyed.”

“Let us hope so,” Master Aki prayed. “He has caused no end of suffering. Why, my brother…”

Scar cleared his throat and drew Master Aki’s attention.

“Almost done?”

“Yes,” he replied impatiently. “Just one moment, please.”

Looking taxed at having to wait, Scar nodded.

Master Aki hurriedly finished with his customer, coins were exchanged and soon he stood before Scar. His expression was less than pleased at being so rudely interrupted.

“We need supplies,” Scar said. He rattled off the list.

Master Aki listened attentively and then nodded. “I have all that you require.”

“Excellent.”

Father Keller came up and said, “Couldn’t help but overhear about some sort of explosion that hurt his wife?”

“Yes,” replied Master Aki. “Every tongue is telling the tale it seems.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shrugged. “Who knows for sure? Ask ten people and you will hear ten different stories. The most popular tale is that the Dark Mage is coming to exact revenge for the raid on his island.”

“Really?” he asked, feigning to be awed.

Master Aki chuckled. “I seriously doubt it, my friend. Though it is the most popular telling, most truly believe it was merely a clash of mages along the border. It happens sometimes.” He produced several sacks and filled them with various items needful for travel.

“Stories do grow in the telling…” Father Keller began.

“So true,” he replied. “Take the story of Gyr.”

“Gyr?”

“Yes. It is a small village to the south.”

“What about it?” asked Potbelly.

“A month ago is when I first heard the tale. At that time, it was merely that during the previous six months there had been more than the usual amount of stillbirths; both in the residents and livestock.

“Two weeks ago, it had grown that a curse had passed through causing all sorts of mischief.”

Scar looked skeptical. “A curse? Really?”

Master Aki chuckled. “You know how things go.”

“What kinds of mischief?” Father Keller asked.

“Well, if the story is to be believed, and only a fool would believe such a tale, a flock of birds circled in the sky until they fell to the earth. Oh, and folks would go all glassy-eyed and stand still for hours. Then when they returned to themselves, continued on as if no time had passed. Some were said to have grown motionless only to continue their sentence two hours later.”

“That is unbelievable,” agreed Scar.

“And now, just yesterday, heard how it is caused by a witch that lives in the area. That she is responsible for the stillbirths and many unexplained deaths. Supposedly she even makes the sky shimmer, even at night.”

At mention of a shimmering sky, his four customers grew solemn and cast glances from one to another. For they, too, had seen the sky shimmer.

“Shimmer?”

Master Aki turned to Azhan. “Yes, young mage, shimmer. Maybe she’s one of yours?”

Azhan shook his head. “I would have heard of an old matron mage of that power.”

“Exactly,” the merchant agreed. “Probably just some old woman who keeps to herself and people love to gossip don’t you know.”

“Yes,” Azhan replied, “they do.”

“The wilder the tale,” Scar said, “the faster it spreads.”

“Isn’t that the truth.”

Placing their items in four sacks, Master Aki told them how much.

Scar haggled a bit then handed over the money. “Appreciate the tale.”

“My pleasure. Take care and have safe journeys.”

They each took a sack as Scar said, “Thank you.”

After meeting up with the others, Scar was quick to relate to James Master Aki’s words about Gyr.

“We stopped into three taverns in different parts of town and they were all talking about it. A few details varied from place to place but on one thing they were all the same.”

James turned to him. “The shimmering in the sky?”

Scar nodded. “Yes. That and the old lady were there throughout all the stories. Most had the stillbirths and the flock of birds while others had different things like cows giving sour milk.”

“One even spoke of a two-headed snake the size of a man that slithered through Gyr,” Azhan said. “It supposedly took a baby boy right out of its mother’s arms.”

About to respond, James caught sight of the quick glance Scar and Potbelly exchanged. He turned to them. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What?” they said in unison.

He glared at them a moment then turned to Miko. “What do you think?”

“I do not know what to think,” the high priest replied. “Is the old woman responsible for the shimmering? Is there a two-headed snake that steals children?” He shrugged then paused a moment. “With the Waste nearby, that last is at least probable. Fearful creatures have emerged from that region of death. Take the remains of the one near our camp a few nights back.”

James nodded.

…put it in Pit Five…

…charge a gold just to look at it…

…feed it dogs or cats…

…or condemned prisoners. They’re always looking to get rid of…

Whispers drew his attention back to the pair and the glare he shot them brought their conversation to an abrupt halt. The two Pit Masters tried looking innocent. James didn’t buy it.

“Do you think there could be any truth to the old woman being responsible for the shimmering we saw in the sky?”

“I find it unlikely,” Miko replied.

“Well, it had to come from somewhere,” Father Vickor interjected.

“True enough.”

James considered it a moment then turned to Scar. “How far is Gyr? Out of our way?”

The Pit Master shook his head. “To the southeast a ways. Could be there in a few hours. As far as we could tell, it’s the closest village to the Waste that hasn’t been deserted.”

“Okay. We’ll make for Gyr at first light. See if we can discover anything about that shimmering.”

Arrayed before him were a dozen of the most mouth-watering tarts. Word had circulated from one baker to another about his weakness for them and yet another of their brethren had arrived with samples of his best.

“The red-berry tart is exceptionally good, Reverend Father.”

Miko picked one that oozed dark juices and took a tentative bite. He had long since realized that not all tarts were worthy to be eaten. Some were just bad while others, though being tolerable, should be avoided in favor of the best. This baker being unfamiliar, cautioned seemed the wisest avenue.

Flaky crust gave way to extraordinarily delicious flavor. As the juice burst from its shell, no less than three separate berries could be distinctly discerned. Each would have been wonderful on their own, but together, exquisite.

The baker looked on expectantly as Miko placed the rest of the tart into his mouth.

“Very good, master baker.”

Beaming, the baker said, “I am so glad to hear it.”

Miko ate another and if anything, it tasted better than the previous. A third followed, then a fourth. About to try a fifth, the door opened and Father Vallin walked in.

“Reverend Father?”

“Yes?”

“You are needed.”

Miko sighed and looked longingly at the remaining tarts before him. “Very well.” To the baker he said, “Let Father Keller know the location of your bakery for I may in the future wish to procure more of your most delicious pastries.”

The man bowed. “I shall, Reverend Father.”

Turning, Miko followed Father Vallin from the room. The priest set a brisk pace as they wended their way through the passageways of Morcyth’s High Temple. He laid a hand on the pommel of his sword though he couldn’t recall having donned his sword belt.

Father Vallin broke into a run when the front door came into sight. Miko quickened his pace. Wind whipped through the opening and dark clouds formed above at an alarming rate.

“What is going on?” Miko asked.

Father Vallin stopped just outside the door. Standing still, he gazed up at the dark mass of clouds churning overhead.

Miko reached to touch his shoulder but before he could connect, the priest drew his sword, shouted an inarticulate word, and raced forward.

He made to follow but a baby’s terrified cry brought him to a halt. As Father Vallin raced from view, Miko searched for the source of the cry. It sounded again to his left, and if the high-pitchedness of the cry was any indication, the babe was in trouble.

Racing down the street, he heard it again from within a building just up ahead. He hurried forward and smashed through the door.

A young man in his late teens, beset by five hooded men stood in the middle of the room. His right hand wielded a sword, his left clutched a babe tight to his chest.

One hooded man darted forward and the young man lunged with his sword, catching the hooded man in his chest. As the blade withdrew amidst a spray of blood, the others rushed him.

Cursing, the young man swung his sword as he sidestepped, but was not fast enough. One pair of arms ensnared his sword arm, another wrapped around his neck and jerked back his head.

Stumbling, the young man’s grip on the babe slackened and it was snatched away.

Miko had seen enough. Wading in with sword drawn, he dropped the fifth man who had noticed his approach and had moved to intercept. Then he rushed the man with the babe.

The child screamed and cried as the hooded man backed away from his approaching death.

“Let go the child.”

The two men faced off as the other two hooded figures tussled with the young man.

“You wish to save this child, priest?”

Miko kept sword at the ready. Fear that the man would harm the babe stayed his hand.

“I do,” he replied.

Keeping sword at the ready, Miko cast quick, tentative glances over to where the young man continued tussling with the other two hooded figures.

“Then save her.”

Taking the babe by the arm, the hooded man flung her toward an open window. The child screamed mightily as she arched end over end through the air.

Miko took two steps then leapt, catching the babe before she could pass through the opening. He then twisted and landed upon his back.

The child immediately calmed.

“Noooo!” screamed the young man as he vanished through the back door in the grip of the hooded men.

Torn between going after the young man, or staying with the child in his arms, he finally set down the babe and raced to the doorway through which the hooded figures had gone. The child’s screams once again rose to a fevered pitch.

Miko reached the doorway only to find the hooded men and the young man gone. He glanced back at the squalling babe and for a second, indecision as to the best course of action held him at the doorway. But then the babe’s cries grew shriller still and he hurried back to her. As soon as he picked her up and nestled her close to his breast, she quieted.

“It will be fine,” he whispered.

She smiled; then cooed happily.

The babe couldn’t have been more than six months old and had the beginnings of brown locks that curled ever so gently. Her big eyes stared into his. They were not the normal blue that most babes had upon entering the world. In fact, they didn’t even match; brown for the right and hazel for the left.

A quick check revealed she suffered no injuries, not even a bruise.

“Who was that young man?” Miko said as he walked toward the front of the house. “Your father? Brother perhaps? And who were those men?”

She took his finger and squeezed it tight.

Miko smiled at her and she smiled back.

A mighty clap of thunder shook the walls. The babe reacted not at all.

Miko rushed to the doorway. Tendril of darkness spiraled out of the black cloud-mass filling the sky. People screamed and raced to and fro. The world flashed brightly as lightning shattered a fountain just outside.

Blinded and thrown backward several feet by the following thunderous concussion wave, Miko lost his balance. He clutched the babe to him tightly as he hit the floor.

A second blast rolled over them before he could regain his feet. A third sought to lay him down yet again, and a fourth left his ears ringing. When his eyes could make out more than a blur, he saw rubble where the wall facing the street had once stood.

Thunder echoed throughout the city. It’s booming drowned out all sound, so quickly did one follow after another.

“The temple,” he shouted. “We have to get to the temple!”

Gale force winds whipped him as he struggled through the rubble. Down the street, priests stood arrayed along the temple’s outer walls. Magic flowed as they sought to shield Morcyth’s temple from the storm’s ferocious onslaught.

Each step was a battle; gusts of terrible might slammed into him forcing him back almost two steps for every three he took. He came abreast of Asran’s small temple. Dozens of priests called upon their god’s power. Guiding their efforts, Asran’s high priest wielded a staff of yew. Tendrils of green sprouted from every stone of the temple. They wove an intricate shield that quickly grew to cover the entire building.

Miko met the high Priest’s gaze just as the first blast of lightning slammed into the temple. The blast knocked him to the ground.

Zzzzzt! Zzzzzt! Zzzzzt!Zzzzzt!Zzzzzt!

Green tendrils turned black; five priests fell unconscious beneath a deadly series of strikes.

The walls shuddered as wind whipped into them.

Zzzzzt! Zzzzzt!

Priests fell and cracks formed.

Miko clutched the babe protectively as another lightning blitz struck.

More priests hit the ground; protective vines withered and died, then a blast of blinding white struck the tip of the high priest’s staff.

Searing light blinded him as the thunderous concussive wave lifted him off the ground and slammed him into a wall twenty feet away. Somehow he kept hold of the babe. It took several precious moments before his eyes could once again focus on the world around him. First the sight of the baby girl smiling up at him; then what was left the Asran’s temple.

Bodies, some broken, others charred, lay scattered amidst the rubble. The temple was utterly destroyed. Of the high priest there was no sign, only a charred pit where he had stood.

Zzzzzt!

The roiling darkness above continued raining arcs of destruction into the City of Light. Between the clashes of thunder other buildings could be heard collapsing.

“Come on, little girl,” Miko said as he got to his feet, “we need to get you to safety.” Then with prayers to Morcyth, he ventured from the relative safety of the wall and headed back to the temple.

The wind, if anything, blew all the harder. Headway was nigh-on impossible but he fought for every inch. Up ahead he saw Father Vickor standing upon the steps before the great doors to the temple. Morcyth’s glow surrounded him as well as the priests arrayed behind him.

Zzzzzt!

Lightning struck the shield protecting the temple.

Zzzzzt!

And again…and again.

Miko summoned Morcyth’s power to him and progress against the wind improved.

The lightning was unrelenting as it struck the temple. Priests, his priests and friends fell beneath the onslaught.

Father Vickor stood with mace in hand looking for all the world like the street brawler he had been before donning holy vestments and vowing to do naught but good. He had been among the first to be called to Morcyth and one Miko depended on most. Alternating between shouting obscenities at the sky and prayers to Morcyth, he sought through sheer grit and strength of will to hold back the storm.

Zzzzzt! Zzzzzt!

Lightning struck.

“Morcyth protect…,” the rest was lost in the wind.

Zzzzzt!

“You devil-son-of-a…”

Three blasts in quick succession rocked the shield and for a moment, it wavered. A fourth strike made it through and blasted away a section of the front façade. Miko prayed for Morcyth to strengthen it and before the fifth hit, it again grew strong.

As if angered by the temerity of these priests, the storm redoubled its effort and hit with a massive wave of strikes. One after another they slammed into the protective shield; Miko was again blinded and knocked to the ground.

He laid there curled around the babe calling upon Morcyth to protect them, to protect the temple. Still the strikes continued. Each sent a wave of force that felt like someone had kicked him. Unable to rise, unable to do naught but lay there until it was over, he formed a protective shield around himself and the babe to ride it out.

Then there was silence. It lasted a moment, then another.

Opening his eyes he saw Father Vickor standing alone amidst the fallen priests. Behind him the temple remained standing.

Father Vickor turned to Miko with a sad expression.

“It’s over.”

About to reply, Miko watched his friend pitch forward lifelessly. Cracks formed and spider-webbed their way across the temple’s stone façade.

“No!” he cried and lurched to his feet.

He called for the power of Morcyth but the glow failed to appear. Fear rose as he searched the many places within him where he had always found his god. But each place was empty.

Sections of stone broke off and fell away to crash mightily against the ground.

“Morcyth!”

Imploding upon itself, the once grand temple vanished in a massive clamorous cloud of dust and debris.

“Reverend Father?”

Awakening in a cold sweat, Miko saw Father Keller kneeling next to his bedroll; off to their right walked Father Vickor with Kip and Jira in tow.

“What…?”

“The Dark Mage says it is time we were underway.”

Scar and Potbelly were securing their gear on the pack horses, James stood with Jiron away from the camp deep in conversation.

Father Keller gave him a worried look. “Are you all right, Reverend Father?”

Miko sought Morcyth and found him. Holding up his hand, he brought forth the glow. Then he nodded. “Yes. Let us make ready.”

Already the details of the dream were fading away as dreams always do. They faded still further as he collected his belongings and mounted his horse. As they rode for Gyr, a shudder went through him as Father Keller’s words echoed yet again: It’s over.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Two hours later they encountered the smell of death and decay. Brought in on a southerly breeze, it had to have originated somewhere near Gyr.

“Gah,” Potbelly exclaimed, then put a cloth over his nose and mouth to ward off the fetid odor. “Haven’t smelled anything this bad since the war.”

“What is it, father?”

Jiron glanced to his daughter. She had the collar of her shirt up over her nose though he could tell that had little effect.

“Probably an animal died,” he assured her. “Remember that dog we found in the alley by our house?”

She nodded, then smiled. “Mother had thought it was you.”

Jiron laughed. “I’m bad at times, Jira; but that smell curled my toe hairs.”

Scar and Potbelly nudged their horses to a quicker pace and rode ahead, uncertain that the odor would be as innocent as that. They’d smelled a dead dog before and it hadn’t been nearly this overpowering; a field of fallen soldiers that hadn’t been seen to properly, maybe; but a dog? They wouldn’t believe that unless he saw it for himself.

They came to a stop upon spying dark forms lying in a field up ahead. “I think we found the source of the odor,” Scar observed.

Potbelly nodded. “Too big to be people.”

They advanced cautiously and found the dark forms to be cows. Hundreds lay scattered across several acres. Scar had them wait for James. He pointed to the dead animals when the others caught up.

“Should we investigate?”

James thought a moment, then shook his head. “No. This close to Gyr, I’m sure we’ll hear all about it when we get there.”

“As you wish.”

Taking the lead again, the pair of Pit Masters continued along the road.

Some of the fallen herd lay fairly close to the road. The beasts looked to have been fat and healthy before they died. How this had happened to them remained a mystery for there were no indications as to what killed them. A few showed signs of scavengers, but nothing that would have caused death.

“Another enigmatic happening near the town of Gyr.” Azhan came abreast of James. “Dark forces have been at work here, Master.”

James silently eyed his apprentice a moment, then asked, “Do you know something about this?”

Azhan shook his head. “No, Master. But what else could have done such a thing?”

“Disease perhaps? Someone poisoned them? Who knows?”

“Poisoned?” Azhan asked.

Shrugging, James replied, “Maybe. They certainly did not die by sword or arrow.”

The air freshened once they left the field of carcasses behind; and by the time the outlying homes of Gyr came into view, a light drizzle had begun to fall. Shouting could be heard coming from the village.

Scar rode ahead to see what was going on while Potbelly waited for the others. He hadn’t gone much past the first couple houses before turning around and hurrying back. By this time the others had joined Potbelly.

“Something has the whole place in an uproar,” he explained.

“Any idea what?” James asked.

Shaking his head, Scar replied, “Couldn’t get a clear view but from the mob of people, I’d guess every resident in Gyr is involved.”

James scanned the sky for signs of the shimmering field. Not seeing any, he indicated for Scar to lead the way. “We still need to find that old woman. Keep our distance, we don’t want to get drawn into whatever is going on.”

“Right.”

Gathered before the largest building in Gyr; a modest two-storied structure that looked to be the village’s sole inn, were most if not all of Gyr’s inhabitants.. They encircled three people. One was an elderly man easily in his sixties. He bore an air of command and had to be the village mayor. The second was a much younger man who carried a cudgel in his right hand and held the arm of the third person with his left. Old and weathered would be the best way to describe the woman he held. Barely five feet in height, she stood bent and stooped as if the weight of the world had rested upon her shoulders far longer than nature had intended.

Even from the edge of the village James felt the angry tremor with undertones of rage that rippled through them. Shouts rang out from the crowd.

“What is going on?”

Azhan came next to his master and then concentrated on what the villagers were saying.

“They call for the death of the evil one,” he translated. “Enough is enough, another said.” Then there was a shout and the crowd erupted with angry exclamations. The older man in the center raised his hand and the crowd quieted.

James glanced to his apprentice.

“He says that the death of Eddra will not end the horrors, that she is not responsible.”

The crowd roared with angry fervor.

“They are in a lean and hungry mood,” Scar commented.

James nodded. “We need to get closer.”

He caught glimpses of the trio in the center as they made their way through the few outskirt buildings; his gaze settled upon the elderly woman. “Think she is who we are searching for?”

“Most likely,” Miko replied.

The crowed screamed and drowned out the words of the mayor.

“They mean to kill her, Master,” Azhan exclaimed.

“Want us to save her?”

James glanced to Jiron.

“Master!”

Azhan’s cry drew his attention back to the crowd and the trio they circled.

The younger man who held the woman’s arm had let go and moved from her. The older man’s cries intensified as he tried by sheer force of will to quell the anger of the people. His efforts were stilled when a rock struck his forehead and dropped him to the ground. A second rock followed the first and hit the old woman in the side of the head.

“Save her…”

Even before the first word had passed his lips, Miko’s horse leapt forward. Father’s Keller and Vickor raced after with the Pit Masters and the rest hot on his heels.

“Don’t kill anyone!” James yelled.

Blood trickled down the side of the old woman’s face. She raised her arms as a second stone hit her in the chest, then another in the arm. Her efforts bore little fruit, a barrage of a dozen missiles struck and knocked her thin, frail frame to the ground.

Miko reached the edge of the crowd and magic flared as the power of Morcyth parted those in his path, flinging them out of the way.

Indignant exclamations quickly turned to ones of fear and flight. Villagers fled upon seeing the armed, mounted men in their midst. Those who did not move fast enough felt an unseen force shove them mercilessly aside.

Miko hopped from his horse and rushed to the woman’s side.

She lay unmoving on the ground. Her face was red and swollen from where the rock had struck her. Already, her left eye had swollen shut.

“Protect the Reverend Father,” Father Vickor shouted.

He and Father Keller drew their weapons and stood to either side of Miko. But they needn’t have bothered. The villagers had all but vanished.

Scar appeared with the younger man who had held the old woman’s arm. Sword drawn and with its point pressed to the man’s back, he marched him forward. The older man who had tried to calm the crowd lay dead beside the old woman. The single blow to the head had done him in.

“Is she alive?” James asked as he came to stand next to Miko.

When Miko failed to reply, Father Keller said, “He is trying to keep her soul from departing.”

James glanced to his friend and the old woman. She looked bad; he didn’t have much hopes he would be successful. Then he turned to the man being brought forward by Scar.

“What happened here?”

“Ending the evil that has plagued our village for the last three years.” He indicated the woman with a nod of his head. “She is evil, and a witch, and has brought much misery to our village.”

“He didn’t think so,” James replied, pointing to the now-dead older man.

“He was a fool,” the younger man spat.

“What is your name?”

“Azki,” he replied.

Jira gasped upon seeing the old woman. “Is she dead, father?”

“Your uncle will not allow that.”

She glanced to Father Keller and received a nod.

“Kip,” Father Keller said, “why don’t you and Jira round up the horses and secure them to the inn.”

“Yes, Father.”

Faces peered from windows up and down the street. Some looked worried, others retained the anger displayed earlier. None, however, felt the need to confront these armed intruders.

“We’ll secure the area,” Scar said. When James nodded, he, Potbelly and Tinok fanned out and set up positions.

Just then the glow surrounding Miko faded and he sat back on his heels.

“Well?” James asked.

“She’ll live,” he replied.

“It would have been wisest to let her die.”

James turned on Azki. “Why do you say that?”

Sneering, the young man replied, “She will lay a hex on you and all who are with you.”

“I think we can deal with that should it happen.”

“She is a blight upon the land,” the young man insisted. “Keeping her alive will see an end to us all.”

Miko shook his head. “I do not think so,” he argued. “I sensed nothing malign about her. She is simply an old woman, nothing more.”

“When she blights you and all you love dies, forget not that I warned you.”

“I won’t,” James replied. Then to Miko asked, “How soon until we can talk to her?”

The high priest stood and considered it a moment. “Given her injuries and her advanced years, at least a day or two, perhaps longer.”

“Damn,” James exclaimed. “We can’t linger here.”

“No, we cannot,” Miko agreed.

“I’ll see about getting more supplies,” Shorty said and headed to the inn.

“We’ll have to take her with us then.”

“Given her advanced age and injuries, any length of time on horseback will surely kill her.”

James scanned the area and his eyes settled on a wagon. “How about that?”

“It will be very slow,” Jiron warned. “What we need is a carriage.”

“Is there a carriage in Gyr?” James asked the young man. When Azki hesitated, he asked, “Where is it?”

Azki kept silent until Jiron produced a knife and gave him a look promising much pain.

“Back of the inn in the stable,” Azki said. He then gestured to the dead old man. “It was his.”

“Guess he won’t miss it,” James said. “Kip!”

“Yes, sir?” said the novice as he came from where he and Jira had secured the horses.

“There’s a carriage in the inn’s stable. Find it and bring it ‘round.”

“By myself?” he asked.

Just then Scar came forward. “We might want to get out of here if you wish to avoid bloodshed.” He pointed toward a group of men that had come out of hiding, each bore a weapon of some sort.

James sighed. “Does it ever end?” he mumbled under his breath then louder said, “Shorty’s at the inn. Take him and Kip and find the carriage back of the inn and make it ready to travel.”

“We’re on it,” Scar replied. “Come, Kip.”

“And find as many blankets and pillows you can,” Miko added. “She will need them to survive the journey.” To his priests he said, “Quickly gather supplies; food, water, and so forth.”

“Yes, Reverend Father,” Father Vickor replied

“Make haste.”

To Azki, James indicated the growing group of armed men and said, “Tell them that we are taking her from Gyr. If they try to prevent us, we’ll kill them all.”

“They may not listen to me.”

“But to me they will.”

Azhan had donned his mage robes.

Color drained from Azki’s face as he realized he stood in the presence of an Empirical mage.

“Follow me,” he told Azki and stepped off without looking back. James was surprised to see the villager follow without hesitation. When he reached the armed men, he spoke only briefly and they quickly dispersed.

“They do have a fearsome reputation.”

James turned to see Tinok standing at his elbow and arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“They are not known for their patience or tolerance,” he explained. “Heard about one that was accidentally knocked down by a child running at play and burnt the boy very badly out of spite. You just don’t mess with them.”

Azhan returned to James and said, “We shall have no further trouble, Master.”

“Thank you, Apprentice.”

Azhan beamed and then went to join his friend Hikai in readying their mounts.

Though the group of armed villagers had dispersed, pockets of men stood together in deep conversation. Many cast quick glances to the strangers in their midst. James wondered as to just how persuasive his apprentice had been. When moments later Scar drove the carriage around the side of the inn, James breathed a sigh of relief.

It was an open seat carriage, not suitable in the least for inclement weather. He eyed the clouds and though at the present the rain had stopped, they looked as if they could open up at any minute.

Miko took charge of seeing that the old woman, Eddra, was safely transferred to the carriage. The many blankets and pillows taken from the inn made her very comfortable. He had Father Keller accompany her in the carriage so as to keep an eye on her. By the time Miko announced that she was as comfortable as they could make her and that the odds of her surviving the trip were at least even, the others were in the saddle and ready to ride.

“Think I was recognized?”

Jiron shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. If they had, I doubt if anyone would have been on the streets.”

“You have a point.”

Lowering his voice, Jiron said, “The Dark Mage is far more a fearsome figure than Azhan could ever be. Him, they would merely try to avoid. You…,” he paused and grinned, “they’d flee for their lives.”

Sighing, he nodded then glanced to the unconscious woman riding in the carriage. Would she have any answers? Was she even the right woman? Would she even survive the day? Miko seemed convinced she wouldn’t die on them any time soon. And with Father Keller at her side, James shared his friend’s optimism.

He’ll be glad to get the next part of this trip over. For once the Star is in hand, they can make all speed to Meliana and Kenny. But getting the Star may prove problematic. It was after all in a radioactive crater where once had stood Dmon-Li’s high temple. Five years have passed since the blast that closed the gate and prevented the god from crossing over. Would Godzilla be waiting? Or maybe C.H.U.D.’s? Eight legged freaks? Chuckling at being the product of having seen way too many B movies when younger, he drew forth memories of Meliana and got lost in the past.

Chapter Twenty-Six

From Gyr they headed southwest; directly toward the heart of the Waste. For a day and a half they covered terrain that transformed from scrub brush to desert. Every eye searched the horizon for indication that fell beasts from the Waste were about. Most did so with the hopes of never spying any; two on the other hand had high hopes of encountering beasts of terrifying aspect.

On the surface they were along to help out an old friend, one to whom they owed everything; but the real catalyst prompting their joining this venture was the hopes of finding, capturing, and returning alive some beast not of this world. From their time with James during the war, they knew he drew such creatures like moths to a flame.

And so they waited.

“Shouldn’t we have reached the boundary posts yet?” Scar asked James’ young apprentice.

Azhan shrugged. “Not having been the one to post them, I am in no position to tell you where they are. All I understand is that they are posted within sight of each other and that there is little chance of passing beyond the safe area without seeing them.”

Scar was little impressed. After all, what one man could put up, another could take down. Should James’ whereabouts been discovered, someone could quite easily have deduced their destination, especially after leaving Gyr. Then it would have been a simple task of getting ahead of them and remove a warning sign or two. But as was the case of most worrying, it was for naught. Late the second day, the crossed-spar sign bearing a human skeleton came into view.

“There it is,” Azhan announced.

“Hope that poor fellow was dead first,” muttered Kip.

“That would depend on who placed the warning here, and who that fellow nailed to it used to be,” Azhan replied. “As I understand it, mostly they used those who succumbed to the Waste.”

“I guess that would be fitting,” Shorty said. “Make their death mean something and all.”

James left them to their arguing and went to the carriage.

The priests had jury-rigged a canopy of sorts out of blankets and lengths of branches acquired along the way. Not the most fashionable, but it kept the sun, what there was of it, off Eddra.

She had yet to waken. Her injuries were on the mend and looked to make a full recovery.

“I would dearly love to speak with her before we part ways.”

Miko nodded. “As would I.”

“We’ll give it until sunup,” James decided. “If she’s not awake by then we will make for the ruins of Ith-Zirul.”

“And these suits of yours will protect us from this… uh… radiation.”

“Yes they will,” James assured him. “We shall don them before we depart and not take them off again until we return. I wish the Geiger Counter hadn’t broke.” When Miko arched an eyebrow questioningly, James said, “These suits weren’t designed to be worn for days on end.”

“I don’t see how that matters.”

“If we are in a high concentration of radiation…” he said leadingly, “and we got to pee…”

Light dawned and Miko smiled. “Could be interesting.”

Scar and Potbelly laughed.

James glared at them. “Glad you think it’s so funny. I’ll have you clean them when we get back.”

Scar just laughed more.

A weak sound coming from the carriage stilled another retort. Father Keller bent low and the glow of Morcyth surrounded him and the woman. After a moment the glow faded and he said, “I think she may be coming round.”

Everyone crowded around the carriage until Miko shooed all but James and himself away. “We do not wish to scare her.”

“Then just send Potbelly away,” Scar quipped.

Potbelly swiped at his friend playfully and they went to check on their supplies.

First the muscles of her face moved a bit and then an arm twitched. A deep intake of breath and her good eye cracked open. Her face remained swollen around her other eye; it being puffy and all but closed.

“Eddra?” Miko said soothingly.

Her eye moved to and fro slowly and seemingly without purpose.

“Eddra,” he said again, “you are safe now.”

Lips cracked open and a small sound came out.

“Water,” Miko said and a flask was handed to him.

Placing the opening to her lips, he dribbled water into her mouth very slowly. First just to quench her tongue, then a little more when it looked like she would be able to swallow the liquid.

“Eddra,” Miko said yet again, “How are you feeling?” When she failed to respond, he gestured for Azhan to join them. “Ask her how she is doing?”

He spoke in the Empire’s tongue and received no more of a response.

Her eyes closed again and she drifted back into unconsciousness.

James looked worriedly to Miko.

“She is old and recovery from the stoning may require more time for someone of her advanced years,” he said. “Or she may never recover.”

“I understand.”

“Either way, it is in the gods’ hands now. It might be best to have Azhan and Hikai remain nearby in the event she regains consciousness.”

James turned to his apprentices and saw their nods.

“We shall remain vigilant, Master.”

“Thank you.”

“We wish to be helpful,” assured Hikai.

“In the meantime,” James said to Miko, “let’s see about these suits. I’ve never worn one, but how hard could they be?”

It took until the sun went down and everyone’s help, useful and otherwise, before they figured out how to accurately wear them. More than once James had mumbled how it would have been nice had an instruction book been included. But getting stuff from the surplus store isn’t like buying it off the shelf at the local outfitters.

Standing in their dark camouflage suits with the bulky mask with two large eyes made them seem as if they were creatures right out of the Waste.

“You look like a bug, Uncle,” Jira giggled.

His laugh was muffled behind the mask. “I bet,” he replied. “I’m just glad we’re not doing this in the heat of summer. Doubt if we’d survive.”

“I would have to agree,” Miko said, pulling off his mask.

“Take plenty of water, Reverend Father,” Father Vickor advised.

“That’s the plan,” James said. Removing his mask felt so good even after just a few short minutes. How will it be after three days or more? He tried not to think about it.

“You two get a good night’s sleep,” Scar said. “We’ll take care of the watch.”

“Indeed,” agreed Father Keller.

In a low voice so as not to be overheard, Father Vickor leaned close to James and said, “We’ll keep an eye on your apprentices while you are gone.”

“I appreciate that.”

Removing the suits were a whole lot easier than getting them on. Once off, James had dinner then laid down in his bedroll near the fire. The others busied themselves with sharpening weapons, mending clothes, and many other sundry tasks required when on the road. He listened to their efforts, their conversations until sleep finally took him.

It was just past midnight when a little head poked itself out of its bedroll and looked around. Kip and Father Keller had the watch; their silhouettes could be seen against the greater dark of the desert as they walked the perimeter. Scraps of their conversation drifted to her when their path brought them close.

Jira would huddle down into her blankets, feigning sleep until they passed. Then when they had moved far enough away, she slipped from her bedroll. Moving with all the stealth she could muster, she threaded her way past her snoring father, stepped over her uncle’s apprentice, Azhan, and then tip-toed beyond the reach of the light of the campfire.

She held still for a moment, afraid that she had been discovered. But when none woke and the two on watch failed to react, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Moving into the night, she pulled out the sliver of dried apple saved from dinner. She wouldn’t go far, just far enough so her Little Brother would appear. Moonlight guided her feet and the camp fell farther in the distance. The campfire could still be seen so she knew she hadn’t gone too far. Figuring she was far enough away so as not to be detected, she sat cross-legged on the ground, set the piece of dried fruit on the ground, then began to hum softly.

Her Little Brother never took long to come and she had little time to wait before movement in the darkness signaled he had come.

“Come here, Little Brother,” she said softly. “I got a nice bit of apple for you tonight.” Reaching forward, she nudged the apple slice forward. “It’s good…” Then she resumed her humming.

The shadow moved closer and she giggled in anticipation. But then her giggle died when the shadow grew in size. A scream rose in her throat as a monstrous shape rushed from the darkness. Before she could make a sound, four sharp needles struck her in the neck; their poison paralyzed her vocal chords and quickly spread to the rest of her body.

Unbeknownst to those at the camp, Jira was dragged off into the dark.

“Now, young Kip,” Father Killer continued, “Morcyth further tells us that knowledge is the true power in the world.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Father.” Kip’s response was filled with skepticism. “How can knowledge overcome a man with a sword? Or an army?”

“The true power of knowledge lies in its subtlety. If a man comes at you with a sword, and you know how to use a bow, the swordsman dies. If a man comes at you with a bow, and you know how to use a shield, the bowman dies. And think on this, if knowledge is utilized to its fullest potential, you would have found a way to prevent the man with the sword from coming after you in the first place.

“Maybe he is coming after you for your money? If so perhaps you could find him suitable employment to meet his needs. Is he coming after you for a slight he perceived you gave him? Then an apology or other recompense could alter his desire to kill you. Never underestimate what a man with knowledge is capable of.”

Still not entirely convinced, Kip said, “Like the Dark Mage?”

Father Keller chuckled. “Yes, like the Dark Mage. He has a fount of knowledge we could only dream of sharing. Or so our Reverend Father has indicated.”

“I don’t know…”

The priest pats him on the shoulder. “Understanding will come. It’s often a dish best seasoned with age.”

From out of the darkness an animalistic screech sounded. Kip and Father Keller spun around to face it.

“What was that?” Kip asked.

Father Keller shook his head. “Never heard the like before.”

It sounded again.

“Wake the others.” Taking Kip’s arm, he added, “Quietly.” As Kip returned to camp, Father Keller drew his sword.

Father Vickor was the first to join him. Mace in hand, the one-time brawler stared out to the darkness.

The screech sounded again.

James then Scar came to stand with them. Jiron was next.

“Jira?”

Kip’s voice held an edge as it said her name.

Jiron turned to find Kip standing with her empty bedroll in hand.

“Jira!” her father shouted.

Those still asleep snapped to full wakefulness at the sheer force of his cry.

Turning to Father Keller, Jiron pulled his knife and made a step toward the priest. “Where is she?”

Miko stepped between them just as another screech sounded further away in the distance.

“We did not see her leave,” Father Keller said.

“Jira!” More than one voice now split the quiet of the night. Between each series of shouts, they paused to listen; the desert was silent.

“Spread out,” Scar said. “She couldn’t have gone far. Maybe just to answer nature’s call.”

Visions of the mutilated creature’s carcass found several nights ago flashed through Jiron’s mind. When the screech sounded yet again, he bolted from the camp in the direction from which it came.

Tinok took off after with Scar and Potbelly close behind.

James grabbed Shorty’s arm. “Stay with the camp and see to the old woman.”

The knife-thrower nodded.

He then bolted out with his two apprentices hot on his heels. Miko joined him as did Father Vickor. Father Keller and Kip remained behind with Shorty.

Jira remained fully conscious as the creature carried her through the night. She wanted to scream and have her father come rescue her, but the poison coursing through her system prevented all but the most rudimentary bodily functions. Lungs worked, heart pumped and she could see and smell.

The creature was like nothing she had ever seen before. Large as a horse, part animal and part something else, it ran on four legs like a horse yet it possessed two rubbery appendages with which it gripped her to its underbelly. Instead of a horse’s head it had one more rounded with two pair of antennae like a bug. In her worst nightmares she could never have imagined something so frightening.

From far off she heard another of those frightening screeches. They only added to her terror. Were they more of these creatures? Or something worse? She didn’t know. All she hoped for was that either her father would arrive to save her, or the poison would wear off so she could get to her knives. They remained in their sheathes on her belt.

Its long strides rapidly covered an incredible amount of ground. She wasn’t sure how long it carried her before its pace began to slow. In the dim moonlight filtering through the clouds above, she noticed darker shapes looming out of the night. As they drew closer, she quickly realized they were walls, or rather what were left of walls. A farmhouse most likely for when they passed through a section of crumbled stone, she saw the chimney. Then she saw the bones.

A great pile of white bones lay piled against one wall. Its macabre collection stood taller than herself and was capped with a trio of gleaming skulls; human skulls. It brought her to the pile and released her so that she lay against its base.

It then brought its insect-like head toward her and smelled her. Jira’s skin crawled when the antennae bent forward to touch her. There was a slight clicking noise coming from the creature. She couldn’t tell what made the sound for her face was not directed at the creature’s head and thus could not see it.

She wanted to cry. Don’t eat me, she screamed, but the words failed to come. Father!

From outside, a great cacophony of screeching sounded. From all around the sound grew and rose in intensity. There had to be more than one animal out there making that noise.

The creature’s head rose and swiveled from side to side. Its clicking sound grew more pronounced.

When something struck the outside of the wall with a resounding thud, the creature turned toward the sound.

Screeching went on and on with barely a halt in between.

Thud!

Another strike against the outer wall of the dilapidated farmhouse.

From the corner of her eye, Jira saw the creature move away and hurry toward the break in the wall. Its clicking sound grew and there was a guttural sound coming from deep within its throat.

At the opening it paused and the screeching stilled for a brief moment. Then it charged forward and the screeching resumed with increased fervor.

Jira strained to hear what was happening. First came sounds of the creature fighting, then the creature squealing, then silence. Had her head been turned a little bit further, what lay beyond the gap in the wall through which the creature had departed would have been visible. What would come through there? Assuredly not her father. He would not have screeched, he would have instead shouted damnation upon the creature.

Movement from outside brought fear, it was coming toward her. The sound of steps, of a man walking grew louder and then she knew that someone had stepped through the broken wall.

She cursed her immobility; longed to have her knives in hand.

The man walked toward her and then knelt by her head. She couldn’t see him clearly for he was at the edge of her vision.

“Ah, Jira,” the man said. “What trouble you have gotten yourself into.”

He knelt by her head and she felt his hand upon her side. Then gentle pressure and she was rolled onto her back.

“Fear not,” the man said. “The effects of the creature’s poison will not last long.”

Reaching into his shirt, he pulled forth a small vial. Unstoppering it, he dribbled warm liquid between her lips. “This should help.”

The man was in his early thirties, dark brown hair with eyes to match and dressed in rugged leather travel clothes. His warm smile put her at ease though she couldn’t say why.

“It isn’t wise to be off on your own,” he said. “This place has many dangers and it is very easy for one to go astray and be lost.”

A tingling sensation started on her tongue and worked its way to the back of her throat. From there it gradually spread throughout the rest of her body. Where the tingling subsided, the paralysis had vanished.

“Who are you?” she croaked when she finally had use of her voice. “Do I know you?”

He smiled at her again and shook his head. “I do not think you would know me, though I know all about you. Even met you once many years ago when you were but a babe.”

She started asking another question when a rustling out of her field of vision forestalled her.

“There is someone here who was most worried about you.”

Thinking it to be her father, she turned to find a diminutive face staring back at her. Around the outer edge of its left eye was a dark patch in the shape of a crescent moon.

Her Little Brother laid a hand on her cheek, then vanished.

She turned back to the man.

“It would seem there are a few things we need to discuss, little Jira.”

“Who are you?”

“My name, is Brother Willim.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Brother Willim sat cross-legged on the ground before her.

“Eat this,” he said, producing a handful of nuts and dried berries wrapped in a large leaf. “It will help restore your energy.”

She did feel weak, weak as a kitten in fact. With the first bite, she felt better.

“Will… will that creature come back?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Her next question was quelled when he raised his hand and gave her a look indicating she should be quiet.

“Now we haven’t much time, and unless you want your father to learn of your efforts regarding the Little Brothers you will listen and take heed.”

Her eyes grew large at the thought of her father discovering her nocturnal activities. She nodded most vehemently.

“You have a special gift, Jira. The earth spirits do not appear to just anyone. In fact, it is rare in the extreme for them to appear to anyone outside our order.”

She nodded, put another nut between her teeth, bit, and listened.

“But with this comes responsibility; responsibility not only to them, but to yourself.” His face turned grave as he paused a moment to see if his words were sinking in. When she nodded, he continued.

“Going off in the dark, alone, in a place that is dangerous is simply foolhardy. Twice now you have placed yourself in jeopardy, and twice your Little Brother has come to your rescue. This places them in danger… Do you understand?”

“Yes. I…I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Jira. That is why I am here. When the creature took you, the Little Brothers sought me out.” He nodded toward the opening through which he had entered the old farmhouse. “They and I took care of it. It needed destroying in any event, being an unnatural mutation of nature.

“Had I not been with them, they more than likely would have lost one or two in the battle.” He paused a moment to let that sink in before adding, “As they did last time.”

Her eyes widened. “Last time?” she asked confusedly.

Brother Willim nodded. “Several nights back. You went away from your camp and sought the Little Brothers. A creature roamed the wilderness and the Little Brothers intercepted it before it could attack. You returned to your bedroll none the wiser. But because they protected you, two earth spirits are no longer in this world.”

“I didn’t know,” she cried. Tears welled up at the thought that two Little Brothers had perished because of her.

“Now you do. So do not let it happen again.”

She nodded, then said, “But how can I see them then? If I can’t go off by myself, and they won’t come into the camp…”

His face hardened. “That is selfish, Jira. Maybe you cannot see them as often as you wish, but such is the burden we whom they befriend must undertake. Do you want to be responsible for more of them dying?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“Then be patient. Know that your Little Brother, the one with the moon-shaped crescent is always nearby though you may not see him.” He paused a moment then added, “I believe he has bonded to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is hard to explain. Suffice it to say, he thinks of you as his little girl.”

Jira smiled.

Brother Willim cocked his head to the side and got a faraway look for a moment. “Your father is almost here, Jira.”

She grew apprehensive.

“I do not believe he will be too upset with you.”

“I hope not,” she replied.

“But I would advise you to tell him what you have been doing.”

Fear leapt into her eyes.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Honesty is never a bad thing.” She looked skeptical. “Trust me, and have faith in your father. He is a good man.”

She nodded.

Getting to his feet, Brother Willim held out a hand for her to take. “Come, Jira.”

Her grip on his hand was a bit more than firm. Nervousness at what might happen when her father arrived caused her to drag her feet. Once at the gap in the wall she saw the grisly remains of the creature that had taken her.

Vines twined tightly around a creature that had been all but shredded. Blood was everywhere.

Brother Willim walked her past the grisly scene and as he came to the corner of the broken wall, reached into his shirt and produced a handful of seeds. Summoning the power of Asran, a green glow enveloped his hand; then with a prayer, tossed them to the base of the wall.

Where they landed, vines sprung from the ground.

Jira gasped in delight for the vines gave off a greenish light.

“Vines of Brilliant Light, some call them.”

Traveling up the wall, they spread out and soon had most of it covered in a glowing latticework. Leaves sprung to life and half a dozen or so buds grew then opened. Each of the flowering buds produced light equivalent to a torch. Combined with the vines, the whole area was bathed in brilliant light.

“Pretty.”

Brother Willim patted her on the head and chuckled. “Yes they are. I do love them though I haven’t had much occasion to use them.”

“Jiron!”

Scar pointed off to the growing light in the distance.

“Let’s go.”

Moving at a run, they raced across the desert to the unnatural glowing light in the distance. It didn’t take long before they saw two figures standing bathed in the illumination. “Jira,” Jiron breathed as he recognized the smaller of the two. He drew his knives and advanced.

“It’s Brother Willim,” James announced. The priest of Asran was an old and good friend from the war. Many an adventure had they shared. He and the other members of the Hand of Asran had proven invaluable in their efforts against the Empire during the war,

“What does he want with Jira,” Jiron questioned. His knives remained out and would continue to be so until that question had been answered to his satisfaction.

“I don’t know,” James replied. “But I’m glad to see him.”

“Father!” Jira exclaimed when she saw him emerge from the darkness. She let go of Brother Willim’s hand and hurried toward him.

He grabbed her in a big hug. “Are you okay?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Father.” Jira then pointed to Brother Willim who was walking to join them. “He saved me.”

It was then that Jiron saw the vine-entwined, bloody remains of the creature that had taken her. He set her down and sheathed his knives. “Thank you,” he said to the priest when Brother Willim reached them.

“Glad to do it.”

James stepped forward and held out his hand. “So good to see you again.”

Brother Willim took it and gave it a shake. “I’m glad I was in the area.” He tousled Jira’s hair. “She was in a pretty pickle.”

That’s when Jiron’s joy at finding his daughter subsided and a father’s irritation at her having even been in that predicament took its place. “And just what were you doing away from camp that you could be taken?”

She looked up to her father, then glanced to Brother Willim. The priest gave her a nod of encouragement.

“I…”

“Yes?” Jiron said when she paused.

Swallowing hard, she lowered her eyes to the ground. “I was trying to find the Little Brothers.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. “You were what?”

She sank into herself at his roar.

Jiron turned toward Brother Willim. “What part do you have to play in this?”

“My part began when she was taken by the beast,” the priest of Asran replied.

His hand went to his knife hilt.

“She is a rare spirit,” Brother Willim said. “Very few mortals ever see one, least of all befriend one.”

“Befriend…?”

Jiron turned back to his daughter, then cast James an accusing look.

“Hey,” James said, “It’s not my fault.”

Miko stepped in between them. “I do not think it is anyone’s fault, other than Jira’s herself.” He stared meaningfully at Jiron until the knifer’s eyes relaxed ever so slightly. “After all that the three of you have been through recently, it is no wonder she would seek to interact with your saviors.

“If it had not been for them, you three would be dead right now. Frankly, I would have been surprised if she had held little curiosity about the Little Brothers.” He turned to Brother Willim. “Am I correct in assuming from what you have said that she has actually befriended one of the little creatures?”

Brother Willim nodded. “Yes. I’ve known for some time that a burgeoning bond was developing between them, and had planned on speaking to her about it when next we met.”

“How did you know?”

The priest turned to Jiron. “The priests of Asran are the few mortals with whom they have contact. I have an affinity with them and as such, hear things they feel strongly about.”

Jiron appeared to be mellowing.

“You should be proud to have a daughter such as Jira.”

Jira looked up at her father.

He gazed into her eyes and saw them twinkle. The crook of her mouth edged upward in a half-smile. “I am proud of her.”

She leapt into his arms and gave him a big hug which he returned wholeheartedly.

“I was so worried about you,” he said.

“I was too, but knew you would find me. You will always find me.”

“He’d move the entire world to get to you.”

She glanced back at her Uncle.

“Move?” asked Scar. “Say rather lay waste.”

Potbelly chuckled. “I would hate to be the one standing in his way.”

“I told her that she needs to find a safer environment in which to interact with the earth spirits. Doing so on the fringe of the Waste…” he paused a moment before adding, “would be inadvisable.”

“Agreed,” Jiron said. He set Jira down and gave her a stern gaze. “Right?”

She nodded. “Yes, Father. I promise not to again seek the Little Brothers until we are in a safe place.”

“And I will let you know when that will be.”

She nodded again. “Yes, Father.”

“Okay, then.”

“We should get back to camp,” James announced. Then to Brother Willim, “Would you care to share our campfire this evening?”

“I would be delighted.”

Glancing back at the beast, he asked, “Find many like that around here?”

“Unfortunately, yes. They have been coming out of the Waste in ever increasing numbers. This particular one shoots poisonous barbs from its tail.” Seeing Jiron’s sudden concern, he added, “They are not deadly, she is in no danger. Rather they paralyze those they strike. This way their victims remain conscious, yet nonresponsive.”

“You seem to know a lot about the Waste, Brother,” James said.

“Yes. I have been here for some time. Shortly after the war ended, we received word that the land here was killing travelers and that beasts of nightmare were emerging. I and others were sent to assess the situation and see if reparation would be feasible.”

“Is the rest of the Hand here?”

He glanced to James and shook his head. “I am no longer one of the Hand; another leads. No, I am here to do what can be done to restore the health of this land.”

“It’s going to take a very long time before the Waste will be safe for travelers again.”

“This is true,” Brother Willim agreed, then laid a hand on James’ shoulder. “Do not feel guilt about the part you played in this. Far better a sickness that can be cured, than a disease that would have inevitably led to death. If the god Dmon-Li had crossed over, there would have been nothing left to save.”

James nodded and sighed. “I know.”

“Are you planning on entering the Waste?”

“What makes you ask that?”

Brother Willim smiled. “Why else would you be where you are? And there is a power lying dormant at the heart of the sickness.”

James turned to him and Brother Willim arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“The Star of Morcyth,” James admitted. “I utilized its power to close the gate and as a result, produced an explosion that not only destroyed the gate but nearly all of Dmon-Li’s temples. I believe the explosion left this area contaminated with high levels of radiation. That is what is killing people; and most likely mutating the wildlife into beasts like the one that took Jira.”

“And you are planning to brave that, uh, radiation to retrieve it?”

“That’s the plan,” James explained.

“I know you are a powerful mage,” Brother Willim said, “but I doubt even your prowess will stay the hand of death should you venture much deeper into the Waste.”

“I have two suits of specialized clothing that will protect us from the radiation. They are lined with lead, and lead blocks radiation.”

“How do you know this?”

“Where I come from, we have issues with radiation and have learned to deal with it. Even had a little gadget that would tell us where radiation was at its deadliest levels, but it was destroyed not too long ago.”

“That is too bad,” Brother Willim said. “Such a, uh, gadget would have proven beneficial.”

“How long would it take to reach the Star from here?”

The priest of Asran contemplated the question for several moments then said, “At least a solid day by horse, two …possibly three if on foot.”

“We’ll be walking.”

“The first half day shouldn’t be much of a problem. It wouldn’t be until then that you reach where animals begin to die.”

“Any idea how to know when that is?”

Scar chuckled. “That’s easy. Look for the dead animals.”

James glanced to Brother Willim who nodded.

“He is correct. Once you reach the first dead animal, it would be best to don your special clothing.”

“Or before that,” advised Miko. “Some animals may get poisoned by the radiation then wander farther into the deadly area before succumbing to it.”

“The Reverend Father has a point,” Father Keller added.

James sighed then nodded. “Best not to take chances.”

Once back at the camp they checked in on Eddra and found her sleeping.

“She hasn’t stirred,” Shorty said. “Mumbled some, but Azhan could not make out what she said.”

“That is correct, Master,” his apprentice said.

“Master?”

James rolled his eyes and turned to Brother Willim. “Seems I have picked up a couple apprentices.” He then introduced Azhan and Hikai.

“Interesting.”

“Tell me about it,” James said with less than a full measure of enthusiasm.

“Are they going with you into the Waste?”

Shaking his head, James replied, “No. Just me and Miko.”

“Who is she?” Brother Willim asked as he gazed at Eddra.

“Well, her village was going to stone her for being an evil witch who had brought horrors and disasters upon them. We stopped them.”

Brother Willim nodded. “Understandable.”

“And, we believe she may have some insight as to the odd shimmering disturbance we witnessed in the sky a few days back. Have you seen it?”

“Large expanse of what appears to be heat radiating from the ground yet it is among the clouds?”

“Sounds about right.”

“Twice it has passed over,” Brother Willim said.

“Did anything happen when it did?”

“Not that I noticed.”

“We believe it may in some way affect the workings of magic,” James explained. “Or maybe even be magical in nature.”

“I do not know.

Jiron came forward. “Have the earth spirits mentioned it?”

Brother Willim shook his head. “No. Their interests lie in other directions and rarely coincide with what we mortals would consider important.” He gazed into the carriage where Eddra slept. “You think she might know something about it?”

“We hope so.”

“It’s a curious thing to be sure,” Brother Willim said.

James gazed at Eddra a moment longer, watched her chest rise and fall and hear the softness of her breath going in and out. “But we will need to worry about that another day. For in the morning, Miko and I are forging on into the Waste.”

He then went to the pack horse and got the radiation suits. They were packed in plastic and easily removed.

Kip picked up the helmet and eyed it critically.

“Put it down,” Father Keller commanded. “It is not for you.”

“Just looking at it, Father,” he replied, but put it down.

“They are not very comfortable,” Miko said.

“They aren’t meant to be,” James replied. “Just supposed to keep us alive.”

“Two days in these?” Miko groaned.

In that groan, James heard the boy who the High Priest used to be.

“Not just two,” Potbelly said. “If it’s two days in, it’s two days out.”

Miko prayed for Morcyth to give him strength.

“You shouldn’t have to wear these all the time,” Brother Willim said.

“Yes we do,” James replied. “If we get out of these and the radiation levels are high, we don’t stand a chance.”

“I understand that,” he said. “But as I said earlier, my fellow Brothers and I have been here for years working to heal this land.” He reached into his shirt and pulled forth a leafy vine bearing a white flower with three yellow stalks growing from the center.

“Our first night here, we prayed to Asran for guidance. In the morning, we woke to find these vines growing throughout our campsite.”

“Pretty,” Shorty said. “But I don’t see how that helps?”

“Vines do not grow and flower overnight,” Brother Willim explained. “Not unless a god wills it. Asran sent these to aid us in our mission.” He held up the flowering vine. “Where these grow, the land becomes healthy again.”

“They absorb the radiation?” James asked

The priest of Asran nodded. “Or feeds on it. We are not exactly sure. What we do know for certain is that wherever you find these, the land will be safe. And in those places you could take off your suits for a time without fear of dying.”

James eyed them skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Once the radiation is gone, the vines wither and die.” He handed the vine to James. “It has been four years since the vines first came to us. I and the others have worked to spread them throughout the fringe. Wind and animals have carried them toward the heart of the sickness. The Little Brothers tell of large swaths growing deep within the Waste. Based on what they have told us on the areas already healed by the vines and the rate of their propagation, we estimate the Waste should become livable again in little more than ten years. Or at the very least a place where men can pass without fear of dying.”

“Incredible. Those of my world would give anything to have these vines.”

“Now, I would suggest taking the suits off in areas where the vines have already died,” Brother Willim warned. “Where they remain green and in bloom indicates the presence of the radiation upon which they are currently feeding.”

Nodding, James said, “That would make sense.” He turned to Miko. “Could wait ten years…”

“No,” the high priest replied, “Morcyth has indicated now is the time to retrieve the Star.”

“Best to get it done since we are here,” James agreed. He looked at the thick, rubbery mask. “This is going to be a long two, I mean four days.”

“We’ll have a hot bath waiting for you.”

James chuckled and turned to Jiron. “You better.”

“When you leave here in the morning,” Brother Willim explained, “keep vigilant. Though ones like what took Jira are most common, there have been stories of creatures even more fearsome than what took Jira that wander the Waste.”

“Really? Like what?”

Scar and Potbelly were fairly frothing at the mouth in anticipation.

Brother Willim glanced to James.

“They have this idiotic plan to capture one and showcase it back in the City of Light.”

“Idiotic?” cried Potbelly.

“We have powerful magical items crafted for the sole purpose of capturing these creatures.” Scar looked most offended.

When Brother Willim glanced to James, the Dark Mage shook his head. “I have nothing to do with this.”

“There are other mages in the world,” Scar insisted. “Powerful ones that lead a life of seclusion and research who sell to select customers that can afford their items. It was from one such as that which we acquired our magical equipment.”

James wasn’t convinced. “Well, since you are not coming with us, it’s unlikely you will have the opportunity to test them.”

“Never know,” Potbelly argued. “Like the good brother here said, creatures wander forth all the time.”

James just rolled his eyes and sighed.

“While that may be true,” Brother Willim said, “the times when they actually travel beyond the deadly sands are quite few. You would be fortunate indeed to encounter another.” He turned to Jiron. “Or unfortunate depending on how you look at it.”

“Indeed.” Jiron shot the two Pit Masters a look that left little doubt as to how he would be looking at it. Clearing his throat and assuming an expression saying this line of conversation had come to its end, he asked Brother Willim, “Is there anything you can tell us about the area immediately surrounding the Star?”

“Very little I’m afraid other than that we believe the creatures are spawned there somehow. How many, how it happens, and for how long we can expect it to continue are all questions to which we wish we had the answers.”

“Perhaps we will be able to shed some light for you,” Miko said.

“We would be most appreciative for any help you can give.”

“Not a problem,” James said. “If we can figure it out, we’ll send word.”

“Where will you go after retrieving the Star?”

“Jiron will take the others around the eastern edge of the Waste and we will meet up again at Zixtyn.”

“Then if you would, seek out Brother Martin when you get there and provide him with any information you receive. He may not be there as like myself, he wanders the fringe of the Waste working to heal the land.”

“Where would we find him if he is?” James asked.

“He does like his pubs,” Brother Willim explained. “A bit too much at times.”

Father Vickor laughed. “A man after my own heart.”

“He’ll be in one after dark if he’s in town.”

James nodded. “We will see if we can find him.”

“Thank you.”

From the campfire the smell of simmering stew made his belly growl. Jira was there with Tinok helping to put the evening meal together. “Let’s eat, I’m starved.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The morning dawned cloudy with only a slim chance of precipitation. A large bank of clouds looming on the horizon might change all that if they wandered their way; but for the present, travel would be pleasant.

James and Miko were ready to head out before dawn. Their radiation suits remained in their packs for the present. Miko prayed about it and decided they could trust to Brother Willim’s advice concerning it being safe for the first few hours. Both he and James didn’t relish wearing the suits any longer than needed.

“If you continue southwest,” Brother Willim explained, “you should reach the heart of the Waste in two days. There you will find the Star.”

James held out his hand to the priest. “We appreciate all your help.”

“Always glad to aid those in need.” Taking the hand, Brother Willim shook it firmly.

Scar handed James his pack. “Be careful,” he said.

“Don’t plan to be anything else.” Taking the pack, he swung it up onto his back. It was packed lightly, with just enough supplies to sustain them yet still be able to carry it beneath the radiation suit. It would hardly do them any good to protect their bodies while allowing their food and water to become contaminated.

“And keep an eye on my apprentices.”

He and Miko had a long discussion with Azhan and Hikai last night before turning in. Basically saying that if they ran away or caused mischief, James would exact harsh retribution. He left the meeting feeling they would hold to their oaths and not jeopardize their positions as his apprentices.

Jira gave him a hug, and after a long line of good byes and well wishes and a lone see you in Zixtyn, they headed into the Waste.

The first couple hours were as anticipated; tedious walking in an unchanging landscape. It wasn’t until the sun was midway to its zenith that they encountered the remains of a small predator.

From the way it rested upon the ground, it had been leaving the Waste. Dark patches around its eye sockets proved to be dried blood and its fur had fallen out in patches.

“Radiation did this.”

Miko knelt by the carcass.

“Don’t touch it,” James warned. “If it is contaminated, just touching it could prove serious.”

Placing his hand over the dead animal, Miko summoned the power of Morcyth and the glow radiated outward from his hand to envelope the carcass. Several moments passed before the glow faded.

“I now see why this radiation is so bad.”

Standing, he glanced to James. “Should we don the suits do you think?”

Farther along their intended path lay another dead animal. To the east another tell-tale lump could be seen. James nodded. “Yes, that might be a good idea.”

Keeping their packs on under their suits proved more than a little uncomfortable.

“Hope no one comes along and mistakes us for some creature,” Miko quipped.

James laughed. “Can never tell.”

Once the boots and hand covers were in place, they resumed their trek.

The cloud bank off to the west looked to be on a more southerly heading and would most likely miss them entirely.

Carcasses became more common the further they went. Not only those that walked upon the land, but birds as well. At one point they had to make their way through what was virtually a carpet of feathers and mottled birds; looked to have once been an entire flock. Before dying, the birds had flopped about, shedding feathers as an animal would fur due to the toxic levels of radiation.

James jumped when one lurched forward as he stepped over it.

Blood welled from all the orifices and the poor bird made pitiful sounds.

“Probably happened by and just landed for insects when the radiation got them.”

Miko nodded. “It works that fast?”

Shrugging, James said, “Could. I really don’t know that much about it. It could also have been that they were exposed to it before and finally succumbed to it here.”

“I do hope the efforts of the priests of Asran prove successful.”

“From what Brother Willim said,” James replied, “they have already had some inroads in stabilizing this region. Though I have yet to see any of those so-called radiation eating vines of theirs.”

Miko searched the land from horizon to horizon. “They are probably further in.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Leaving the dead flock of birds behind, they continued on.

James’ bladder was filling up and his stomach growled as if he hadn’t eaten for two days. He was loath to take care of either problem until reaching a safe area of vines.

Another three miles and flowering vines appeared on the horizon.

“Thank goodness.”

“I sure will.”

James turned to Miko and laughed.

His laughter, however, was short lived. The patch of vines totaled less than fifty square feet and looked to be in full health.

“Damn.”

The flowers were beautiful and the leaves full and green. “This will not work.”

“No it will not,” agreed Miko. “Radiation must still be present.”

Cursing their luck, they continued on.

Not much further and a larger swath of vines came into view. This time it covered nearly an acre. The outer fringe of healthy vines averaged between twenty and thirty feet in width. It encircled a large expanse of dead foliage.

They hurried to the center.

Miko turned to James. “What do you think?”

“It’s either take the risk or flood my suit.”

“Brother Willim seemed pretty confident it would be safe.”

“Does Morcyth have any opinions?”

Turning inward, Miko thought a moment then shook his head. “No.”

The urgency of his bladder tilted the scales in favor of trusting Asran’s priest. Undoing the clasps and opening the front, he felt cool air waft inside. It felt good.

Miko remained suited while James relieved himself. Once the needs of nature had been satisfied, Morcyth’s glow suddenly appeared and surrounded him. James nearly jumped out of his skin before realizing what was going on.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if what happened to the birds is happening to you.”

“Warn a person next time,” he scolded. “I thought the radiation had started to make me glow.”

Miko couldn’t help but grin. A few moments later the glow vanished. He took off his helmet. “It would seem Brother Willim was correct. I sense no change in your physical health.”

“That’s a relief.”

Shucking off the entire suit, he reveled in the coolness of the breeze.

“However, I shall make sure our condition has not altered before we leave.”

James nodded.

They took out their food and enjoyed the respite from the suits. A most pleasant fragrance gloated on the breeze.

“Those blossoms do smell good,” Miko said.

“That they do. Would make a fortune if it could be made into a perfume.”

“Indeed.”

As he ate, James pondered the position of the sun. “We’re in a semi-safe place at the moment,” he began. “While there are still several hours of daylight left, dare we take the chance that we will come upon such a place before nightfall? Once the sun goes down, the chance of finding another of sufficient size would be chancy.”

On the horizon to the south another of indeterminate size could be seen; to the east naught but desert; and along their intended path, nothing as well.

He took a drink from his water bottle then glanced to Miko. “I would hate having to spend the night in these suits.”

“I agree, but my instincts say to push onward, that to stay would not be our wisest course of action.”

“Oh?”

Miko nodded. “Such feelings come upon me from time to time.”

“Are they always correct?”

“Well, to be honest, no. However, this one has a greater degree of certainty than others.”

James eyed him. “Part of being a high priest?”

Miko shrugged. “Could be. Or it is simply that I feel we need to have this done as quickly as possible.”

“I have to agree with that last.”

Taking a bite of dried beef, Miko leaned back. “It is good to be traveling again. I missed this.”

“Being a high priest has its drawbacks.”

“A few, though I would not alter the direction my life has gone, even if I could.”

James nodded. “I know what you mean. Who would have believed that the lost and confused mage, and the street brat from Bearn from so long ago would be sitting here like this today?”

“Sometimes it is hard for me to believe.”

“I really…” James began, then abruptly stood and stared off to the east.

Miko followed his gaze and came to his feet as well.

A large creature similar to that which had taken Jira walked the desert not fifty feet beyond the eastern fringe of the vines. It was heading in their general direction.

“Think it has seen us?”

James shook his head. “I don’t believe so.”

It loped along as if its legs were malformed, which if the one that Brother Willim had killed was any indication, they were.

They stood still as it reached the end of the vines and began moving off to the northeast. Then a gust of wind came from the southwest and carried their scent toward it. “Damn,” James cursed when the creature halted.

It raised its head and the stalks upon it moved to and fro. Gradually it turned in their direction and moved toward them.

Miko drew his sword and James readied two slugs.

“It does not move fast.”

“No it doesn’t,” James agreed.

It shambled along as if it hadn’t a care in the world. The creature paused several feet from the fringe of the vines. Moving first right, it walked the perimeter for twenty feet, then stopped. Its stalks shivered for a moment before turning about and walking back along the perimeter, back to where it had begun, then continued in the other direction.

James and Miko watched and waited while it moved along the outer edge of the vines, always keeping at least three feet away. This time it did not stop. Instead it continued all the way around the perimeter until reaching where it had begun its trek. Without pausing, it set off on a second trip around the vines.

“Can it not sense us?” Miko asked.

“I think it can,” James replied. “For some reason it is hesitant about entering the vines.”

“Afraid of them do you think?”

“Possibly,” he shrugged.

He gripped his slug and arched his arm back to throw. “Either way, we need to get out of here.”

As he had so many times before, he summoned magic and threw. Straight and true, the iron slug struck the creature in the side of the head and exploded out the other side. Stumbling, the creature fell to the ground.

“Nice to know they die like any animal.”

Miko nodded. “Let us depart this place before more come.”

James already had suit in hand and one leg inserted when Morcyth’s aura enveloped him.

“Going to check you.” First he did James, then himself. “No change.”

“Excellent.” Both legs now in, he secured the bindings and worked on his boots.

While they suited, they kept an eye on the surrounding desert for other creatures. When none made an appearance, they departed once they insured the integrity of their suits.

An hour later they came across a second creature and James put it down with another slug. During the following two hours he dropped a third as well as a malformed surface desert turtle of gigantic proportions and hideous appearance. Far afield along the horizon, other creatures were seen moving yet they managed to avoid attracting their attention.

Near sunset another field of vines of sufficient size had yet to be encountered and James grew worried. He pulled out his mirror and concentrated on the surrounding countryside.

“Watch for the shimmering in the sky.”

“I shall do that,” replied Miko.

He had hoped to avoid this but circumstances had forced his hand.

The image in the mirror shifted and he saw himself looking into the mirror. Then the image pulled back and he saw him and Miko as small dots in the surrounding countryside.

Other dark dots moved about, these had to be the creatures inhabiting the Waste. Scrolling the image southwest, he sought a patch of vines along their intended path. Several were found not far away; unfortunately all were too small to suit their needs. Moving it yet further, he scrolled a ways until coming to a swath of vines over twice the size of the one in which they had taken refuge in earlier.

“Found one.”

“How far?”

“Not sure,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

Drawing more power, he worked to figure an approximate distance.

“Better hurry,” Miko said.

Glancing from the mirror, he followed where Miko pointed off to the south. The shimmering was making straight for them.

“Damn.”

“You have a few minutes before it arrives.”

“Wish I knew what that was.”

“Stop talking,” Miko chided, “and finish.”

Magic poured from him and he started to sweat. Memories from Tapu interfered with what he sought to do. Was that shimmering magic? Was it attracted to magic? And most importantly, Was there intelligence behind its appearance?

Prickling of his skin became noticeable and increased rapidly.

“Almost here.”

He glanced up and saw that it was nearly upon them. The mirror went blank as he released the magic. His skin felt as if he were covered in army ants, each nipping at his flesh. Prickling turned painful as the shimmering field came full upon them. It passed overhead and as the trailing edge reached them, the shimmering field dissipated.

“Well if that doesn’t settle the matter.”

Miko turned to him. “What does?”

He gestured to the sky. “I did magic, it appeared. I stopped doing magic, it disappeared.” James held out his hand.

“What are you going to do?”

“See if it does it again?”

“That may not be…”

James’ orb flashed into being upon his palm. As if on cue, the sky erupted in shimmering and his skin crawled.

“Cancel it!”

Panic grew on his face as his efforts to shut off the orb failed to do so.

“I can’t!” he cried.

Like Tapu, his spell warped and changed. Instead of a soft yellow the orb flared a deep red and seemed to sink through the protective glove of his suit.

James screamed. Pain like the flesh was being ripped from his bones sent him to his knees. “My hand!”

Morcyth’s glow blazed forth and the pain subsided but did not vanish.

Miko took his hand in both of his as his priestly glow intensified.

“You’ve got to cancel it!” Miko shouted. He felt the warped orb at work, could sense it eating away at the flesh within the protective glove. Even using everything he had, he could not halt its effects; only slow it down. “Concentrate!”

Focusing was difficult, yet years of practice overcame the pain. He saw the spell, saw the lines of new power that had changed it, just as in Tapu. The minor conduits of power that structured the orb spell had ruptured. Shoots of altered magic had spread throughout, which had changed the benign orb into something malignant.

He focused on the spell, fully aware that what he was doing may just as easily become corrupted. Using as little power as he could, he quickly traced the altered flows to where they originated. Finding a primary flow of magic coming from a ruptured conduit, he hoped it would be the one to interrupt. Interrupt the wrong one and it could all go kerblooie. He felt like a member of the bomb squad. Should he cut the blue wire or the red?

Sending forth a focused beam at where the greatest concentration of magic emerged from the conduit, he felt the power fluctuate. Though the fluctuation lasted less than a heartbeat, he managed to shut down the spell. Immediately, the pain in his hand eased.

“Okay,” Miko said. “Give me a second to fix you.”

Like a soothing balm, Miko sent the power of Morcyth into James’ hand to repair the damage.

While he worked, James watched the shimmering in the sky vanish. “It’s gone.”

“Yes, it should begin to feel better.”

The glow stopped and James desperately wanted to take off the glove and inspect his hand but fear of the radiation kept the glove on.

“No, I mean the shimmering.”

Miko looked up. “You are right.”

“Why did it come after me but not you?”

Eyes widening, the priest realized he might have only exacerbated the situation by using magic to heal James’ hand. He shook his head. “I… I do not know.” Glancing to the sky, he thought a moment. “Morcyth protected me?”

James looked skeptical. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t sound right.” Motion off to the east drew his attention. One of the creatures rambled quickly their way. James readied a slug but then thought better of it. Prior to manifesting the orb, the shimmering had gone away. Yet it returned the instant he utilized magic and the orb came into being. If he launched the slug with magic, would the use of magic make it reappear yet again to wreak havoc? He kept the slug in hand as they raced off toward the field of vines.

“How far away is it?”

“Miles,” he replied. “I doubt we could reach it before being overtaken.”

The creature had increased its speed when it saw them take off. Its shuffling gait proved quicker than their running.

“But there is one semi-large patch up ahead,” James explained. “It doesn’t have a safe center, but since the other one did not cross into the vines to get us, this one may not as well.”

“It better be close.”

James hoped it would be too.

“Will Uncle James be okay?”

Jiron gave his daughter a reassuring nod. “Your uncle is very capable.”

Scar rode on the other side of her. “That is correct, Little Jira. If anyone can make it through the Waste unscathed, it would be your uncles.”

“I hope so.”

“Did we ever tell you about the time your father and uncle were being chased by a monstrous fire demon?”

Eyes widening, she shook her head.

“Well, let me tell you, it was pretty scary for a time. They…”

Jiron caught a wink from Scar and gave a brief nod in gratitude. He wished that Brother Willim had decided to travel with them, but the priest had begged off saying how he still had work to do in the area.

The fate of James and Miko worried him nearly as much as it did Jira. If they can make it to the Star, he felt confident that all would work out fine. Speaking with Brother Willim after they had departed for the Star definitely hadn’t allayed his fears. Especially how the deeper they penetrated the Waste, the more numerous the creatures became.

By James’ side was where he belonged. It didn’t feel right in not being there. They had been through so much together. He was just a tad bit irritated that only two suits had been brought from Earth. Of course, at the time, he had assumed that the second one was going to be for him. Otherwise he would have pushed for a third.

He listened to Scar’s retelling of that harrowing flight that ended in the Illuminator’s Guild’s storage room. A grin came to him. James never did anything in small measure.

Pushing on, he meant to see them in Zixtyn on the night of the third day.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The longer the shadows grew, the more fatigued they became.

“It’s persistent.”

Miko glanced back to where the creature continued its pursuit. “Yes it is.”

Still over eighty feet away, it had gradually closed the distance. In the last half hour the gap had shrunk much faster.

James’ boots felt like there was a gallon of water in each; a pool of sweat produced through a product of physical exertion and lack of ventilating/ drying air.

“I don’t think I can last much longer,” he wheezed.

“It may be safe to once again use a slug.”

Painful memory of his previous attempt with the orb had kept him from attempting any sort of magic. The unexpected side effects should the shimmering field appear had up to this point stayed his hand. Now, however, with legs aching and feeling as if they were about to give way, he had no choice.

“It is quick after all,” Miko said.

“True.”

Coming to stop, he spun about and readied a slug. Breathe in… breathe out. First to relax his mind and body, then cast the spell. When he felt ready, he arched his arm back.

“Watch for the shimmering field.”

“I shall.”

Swallowing, James threw the slug. A split-second of magic and it took the slug unerringly toward the creature; slammed into its side and dropped it. He turned to Miko who shook his head.

“Not a shimmer.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Me either,” Miko said.

James scanned the sky from horizon to horizon. “Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not a thing,” Miko replied. “Whatever happened last time was not repeated here.”

“Let’s not worry about it now,” he said. “We still have to make it to the vines before we can rest.”

With the sun nearing the horizon, they needed to find it fast. Despite his shakiness and fatigue, they kept a brisk pace in as direct a southwesterly direction as possible. A few times they altered course to avoid drawing the attention of the creatures inhabiting the Waste. Ones similar to what took Jira were by far the most common; their antennaed heads were easily recognizable even from far off.

A half hour saw them to the large patch lacking the safe, dead center that James had seen earlier.

“We wouldn’t have made it.”

“Nope,” James agreed. “I am about dead on my feet now as it is.”

Roughly fifty feet by thirty, the inner area did show signs of wilting though it was still a far cry from what they would consider safe. Moving to the center, they sat and rested.

“Can’t rest for long,” James said. He glanced to the low-hanging sun. “As it is, we’ll be hard pressed to make it to that patch where we can take off the suits and sleep before dark.”

“Should we even try?”

“I don’t think we have a choice. We’re going to need to eat and drink, not to mention answering the calls of nature. Thank goodness for Brother Willim and his flowering vines. Without them, I don’t know if we would have made it.”

“Not with the shimmering in the sky that reacts poorly to magic.”

James nodded. “Been thinking about that.”

“Oh? In what respect?”

“You and I have talked before about there being subtle differences in the magic that we do. Yours being the priestly kind where mine is not.”

“Could there be a correlation?”

“Possibly.”

Miko contemplated that for a moment. “I still do not see why the shimmering would react differently for me than for you. Magic is magic.”

“You would think so,” agreed James. “Next time I see Igor I’ll ask him.”

“If you do.”

James nodded. “There is that. Haven’t seen him since the end of the war.” And to be honest, he hoped he never would.

They remained within the vines just long enough to quiet the shaking in James’ knees and recover a modicum of energy. Then they were off.

As they traveled, James gathered a handful of slug-sized stones. Before the sun hit the horizon he had used two. Neither times had the shimmering appeared. He began to believe it only appeared during prolonged uses of magic. Should the opportunity present itself, he’d test that theory.

Shadows deepened once the sun’s last rays no longer shone upon the land.

Another quick spell and yet another creature met its end.

James quickened his pace.

“It shouldn’t be far.”

The unmistakable outline of flowering vines appeared off to their right. “Think that’s it?”

Peering through the dusky dim, James shrugged. “Hard to tell how big it is.” Two creatures wandered in the vicinity of the patch. “Might be.” He scanned the rest of the landscape and found it to be the only patch in sight.

They headed that way and first one creature then the other noticed them. Stones easily took them out.

Light continued to decline as stars played peek-a-boo behind intermittent cloud cover. They soon realized this was not the patch wherein they could spend the night. It was even smaller than the one they had rested in a short time before, having less than a thirty feet diameter.

“Use your mirror.”

“I don’t know…” The last time hadn’t worked out very well.

“Do it quickly,” Miko said. “It should not take long since we are close. All we need to know is which direction to go.”

“Right.”

“Keep an eye out.”

“Always.”

Rather than use his mirror which in the deepening gloom would prove less than effective, he took out his knife and laid it on the ground. In his mind’s eye he pictured the patch seen earlier in the mirror and when it was fixed in his mind, summoned magic to have the knife point the way.

Seconds ticked by while the magic sought the patch. His skin began to prickle.

“Hurry.”

Ignoring Miko, he concentrated on finding the patch.

“Almost here.”

Pouring more magic into it, he felt the searching tendrils as he thought of them quiver and then fuse together to point in one direction. The knife moved. He rubbed his forearm in a futile attempt to quell the prickling.

“Three…”

The blade stopped.

“Two…”

He canceled the magic just as Miko said, “One.”

The knife pointed south-southeast.

Above them the shimmering coursed across the sky for several more heartbeats before fading away like before.

“I would advise against using magic for a little bit.”

“Yeah,” James agreed. “I don’t plan on tempting fate a second time.”

The sky looked normal though he knew it held a hidden trap should he try to use magic. How long would the effect last? Did it dissipate over time like a foul odor or vanish like a thought?

Picking up the knife, he headed off in the direction it had indicated.

Jiron kept an eye on his daughter while they readied their camp for the night. His gaze wandered her way repeatedly and whenever she happened to return it, gave her silent warnings not to repeat her nocturnal offerings to the earth spirits.

Currently she sat with Kip hunched over a Bones and Daggers game.

“Going to have your hands full with that one.”

Tinok sounded slightly amused, which wasn’t something that happened very often. His moods tended toward the somber.

“Don’t all fathers?”

“Perhaps.”

Sitting next to his friend, Tinok handed him a plate with tonight’s offering of tubers, dried beef and dried apples.

“But most fathers don’t have daughters who are already deadly with knives at five and like to play with earth spirits.”

Jiron gnawed a strip of beef and nodded.

“Except for the earth spirit thing, she’s just like her father.”

“And that’s what worries me. Do I want her to be like this when she grows up?”

“What? You mean, in on the greatest adventures of our age? Rubbing elbows with people who before,” he gestured toward James, “he showed up wouldn’t have given us the time of day? Yep, I would hate for her to have such a terrible life.”

“This is no life for a lady.”

“Lady?” Tinok shook his head. “Look who her parents are. Can you see her content in a knitting circle? With a father who grew up in the Pits and mother who can hit a hawk’s eye while in flight? Not to mention being weaned on tales of adventure, magic, and honor? No, her destiny is not to sit at home with a babe at the teat waiting for her man to return.” He paused a moment. “The gods have other plans for her.”

“No! They shall not have her.”

Tinok laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She may not be given a choice. Fate is never what we wish it…” He trailed off and grew reflective.

“I know.”

Losing the love of his life so soon after finding it had been a cruel joke of the gods, one from which his friend had yet to fully recover. He feared Tinok never would.

A little elated cry from Jira and a groan from Kip said she had won another game. Jiron caught a wave from her and he waved back.

“But she is so little.”

Tinok chuckled. “That she is…today. But tomorrow? That’s another tale.” He patted his friend on the shoulder again and stood. “Going to see if Scar has anything else but this dried boot leather to eat.”

“Good luck on that.”

As Tinok walked away, his gaze returned to Jira. She and Kip had begun another game. Was Tinok right? Did the gods have plans for her? If so they better be good ones or they’ll have him to answer to.

Intermittent starlight breaking through cloud cover proved seriously insufficient in aiding their efforts to find the safe patch of vines in which to camp. Dusk faded into full-blown night and they had yet to find it.

“We could pass right by it and not know.”

James nodded. He sniffed the air through his mask and while he thought he detected the aroma of the flowering vines, it didn’t tell where or how far. Nor did it even mean it was the correct one. For all they knew if they followed that aroma, it may lead them to a patch little more than ten feet square which would do them little good.

“I dare not use my orb.”

“It has been some time since you last used magic, and we have traveled a ways; might be okay.”

“True.”

“I shall assume the risk for light,” Miko said. “As you said, it does not seem to react to me. You can use your knife again to ascertain the patch’s direction. Being closer and already having done it once should enable you to do it quicker this time.”

“You have a point.”

Looking to the sky did little to ease his worry. After all, it wasn’t as if the shimmering could be seen until the process of manipulating magic commenced.

“Okay,” James said. “Let’s do it.” Going down on one knee, he said, “Give me a second.”

“Tell me when.”

He first set the knife down and pointed it in the general direction which he felt lay the patch of vines. Then he set the image firmly in his mind. “Now.”

Morcyth’s glow pushed the darkness back and James let the magic flow.

In no time he felt the magic find the field of vines. The knife shifted slightly. “Got it.”

Darkness once again ruled the world as both let the magic go. Worried glances cast first to the sky then along the horizon failed to detect an approaching shimmering field.

“Quick, it appears, works well.”

“How far is it?”

James shrugged. “Could be less than a mile or as much as two.”

“We are close then.”

“Closer than we were. It was good we did this for we were heading slightly too far eastward. I believe we would have walked right past it.”

About to reply, Miko heard something moving out in the darkness. “Quiet,” he whispered. Taking hold of James, he maneuvered his friend until they faced where the noise came from. “Something is out there.”

“What?”

Then a large shadow detached itself from the greater darkness and rushed straight for them.

“That!”

Sword in hand, Miko put himself between James and the beast. He struck out and landed a blow square upon the beast’s head. It roared and paused in its attack.

A rock found its way into James’ hand. Taking a step to the side, he launched it toward their attacker with a quick burst of magic. It hit just behind the shoulder blades.

Screaming a god-awful roar, the creature stumbled to the ground. Miko rushed forward and delivered a killing blow.

Off to their right they heard another approaching.

James launched a second stone. First came the sound of shattering bones and tearing flesh, then the scream. Not having seen his target, his missile had failed to deliver a fatal strike. The screaming and thrashing continued.

“This is going to attract more.”

“The field is that way,” James said, pointing in the darkness.

Moving out, they raced across the landscape.

Not twenty feet into their run, James was certain they passed another of the creatures in the dark on its way toward the one that could still be heard screaming and thrashing.

The aroma of the field grew as they put more distance behind them. At one point the cacophony of the injured creature died off. Their eyes acclimated to the darkness after their night vision was ruined by Morcyth’s glow. Deeper shadows grew more distinguishable in the dark. Two such shadows lurched out of the darkness directly in their path.

James was the first to see them and he grabbed Miko, pulling him so as to pass around them. They had nearly made it passed when one cried out and altered course toward them.

“Damn.” Cursing, James put it into high gear.

Alerted by the one, the second creature followed the first in pursuit.

“The field better be close,” Miko said. He had his sword out in the event the creatures gained upon them. However, glancing back over one’s shoulder at night in full radioactive gear was at best unwieldy. But at night? Running at full speed? It was fairly pointless.

A hundred feet at full speed sapped James’ endurance nearly to its limit. Already fatigued, his legs burned and lungs could not seem to get enough air. The warm humid air in the helmet was not conducive to heavy exertion. Slipping two slugs from his belt, he came to a stop and spun around.

He had to dodge out of the way as the first creature nearly ran him over. Throwing on the fly, he saw the creature thrust to the side by the force of the slug. It toppled and hit the ground hard.

Just behind it, the second creature turned toward where James had hit the ground and rushed forward.

Miko darted in and sliced it along its side.

Animalistic screams pierced the night. The beast turned to face this new threat just as a slug slammed into its backside.

Spine shattered, it fell to the ground screaming in pain.

A swipe of his blade across the creature’s throat reduced its cries to a quiet gurgle.

“Come on.” Miko reached his hand down for James and helped him to his feet. “More will be coming.”

James lurched to his feet, nodded, and they headed off again.

They kept their pace moderate to avoid complete exhaustion. Just then the clouds parted a little bit more than they had and the world grew a touch brighter. Ahead and to the right, starlight glittered off white flowers.

“There it is.”

Other shadows were on the move toward them; two to their right, another on their left and one directly ahead of them. A slug took out the one in their path and all out flight kept the two on the right from reaching them.

Miko slashed at the one coming in from the left.

Screaming as the blade severed two of its head-stalks, it slowed enough for them to get passed and put distance between them.

Enraged, maddened, and just plain out for blood, the wounded creature screamed as it raced after at full speed.

Even more blossoms could be seen in the expansive field ahead. Thirty feet to safety and James felt a renewed burst of energy.

“We’re going to make it,” he chugged.

Behind them the wounded creature gained. The gap closed fast between it and its prey.

Vines crunched under their feet as they raced into their protective field.

The creature rushed in after them.

“It’s not stopping!” James cried.

Miko spun about and lashed out with his sword.

James readied a slug.

Charging for Miko, the creature screamed as a painful thrust pierced its hide. It screamed again when its prey danced out of the way and it could not reach it. Turning to charge, pain exploded as a slug shattered its hindquarters. Falling, it screamed and thrashed until a blade silenced it for good.

“Any more come in?”

The other two remained outside the vines and a third and fourth could barely be seen as they arrived to join the others.

“Doesn’t look like it,” James replied.

They moved deeper into the patch until they found the safe area of dead vines.

“Give a little light for a moment so we can see where best to rest.”

Morcyth’s glow flared to life revealing that the dead area was quite extensive with a hundred feet diameter at the narrowest. It would prove quite suitable to their needs.

The illumination reached the four creatures at the patch’s edge. They stood stock still staring at them, yet they failed to enter the vines.

“Okay,” James said and the light vanished. They moved deeper into the dead area so as to have as much of it around them as possible. He removed his helmet and took a deep, refreshing breath of the cool evening air. “Much better.”

“Yes,” Miko agreed. “I shall take the first watch.”

James nodded. “Okay. Keep alert. Just because they haven’t come in so far doesn’t mean they won’t if they get hungry enough.” He jerked his thumb back to where the dead one laid in the vines. “That one did.”

“Rest assured, I will remain vigilant.”

Shucking off the rest of the suit, James first poured the water out of his boots then laid them and the suit out so air could get in as best it could to dry it by morning.

Miko wiped his blade clean with a cloth and tossed the gore covered rag aside.

Food and water warmed by a day within the suit were the fare this evening. Gnawing on a bit of dried beef, the high priest of Morcyth felt the barest hint of a presence in his mind. Turning toward the southwest, he could feel it drawing him toward it. He knew what it was. It was the Star.

Chapter Thirty

Early the next morning, as the sun was just cresting the horizon, James woke his friend by shaking his shoulder. When Miko’s eyes opened, James said, “We got a problem.”

“What is it?”

Sitting up, he looked about and immediately answered his own question. Creatures ringed the vine area; primarily those having the stalks on their heads similar to what had taken Jira. But there were other ones too; small dog-like carnivores with mottled fur and red rimmed eyes as well as a pair of massive ground-hugging, armored reptiles. All paced the vine perimeter as if seeking a way past.

“Can we overcome so many?”

“If I didn’t have to worry about that shimmering field coming to alter my spells,” James replied, “I’d say no problem. But now?”

“Take out as many as you can before it arrives.”

“Don’t see what other course we can take.” James gave him a hand up. “Got something else to show you.”

Not three feet away, well within the perimeter of the dead, safe area, grew a small patch of vines bearing three white blossoms.

Miko walked around it. “I thought they didn’t grow in the middle.”

“They don’t,” he said then took a stick and pushed the vines apart. “Unless they have something to grow on.”

When the vines parted Miko saw the rag he had used last night to clean the creature’s gore off his sword.

“And…”

Miko looked up. “And?”

James nodded. Moving to the edge of the dead vine area, he pointed out to where the vines were healthy. A thickly entwined patch had grown upward and formed in a mound amidst the regular vines trailing across the ground.

“The creature that we killed last night.”

“You mean in one night the vines had grown that thickly?”

“It sure looks like it,” James replied.

“How?”

“Assuming that it is as Brother Willim stated that the vines feed on radioactivity, and also considering the fact that the creatures thrive in a radioactive wasteland, then it stands to reason that the creatures are themselves radioactive which makes them a food source for the vines.”

“Yes,” Miko said. “That being so, their hesitation for entering the vines would be explained.”

James chuckled. “They don’t want to be eaten so they stay out.” Then he sobered. “In any event, we can’t leave as long as that mass of creatures remains just outside the field. They would be on us in a heartbeat should we stray from the vines.”

“What do you propose? Slugs?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been toying with a new concept and this would be an ideal time to test it.”

“Ideal? How?”

“No apprentices to witness what I do.” With a somber expression, James turned to Miko. “In our travels and adventures, I altered my shield in many different ways. Even crafted a bridge across which we walked at Tapu.”

“This is true. You are quite adept at adapting magic to fit the situation.”

“Igor once said that it was how I think that makes me such a good mage. In any event, a thought occurred to me not so long ago.”

Turning to face the largest concentration of creatures, he envisioned what he wanted to do and summoned a micro burst of magic.

One of the stalk-bearing creatures stumbled, then fell without so much as a cry. Before it hit the ground, the one standing next to it began to topple.

Miko watched in awe as one after another, creatures bearing no wounds fell dead. Two turned to five, five to ten and in no time half the creatures waiting outside the vines had fallen.

“I could do this all day,” James explained. He looked up to the sky for signs the shimmering field was returning, but the sky remained normal. “And it would seem the amount of magic I use is so small and lasting such a short time that it fails to bring the shimmering to us.”

“Incredible.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Something in James’ tone drew Miko’s gaze. Rather than elated and proud at such a display, James’ expression bordered on the sad and depressed.

“I could be the greatest assassin in the world. No one could stand against me. I could kill at will and no one would be the wiser. In a world where if you fall dead all they do is bury you, it is very unlikely that anyone would discover the terrible truth.”

“And that would be?”

Walking to the inner fringe of the vines, James picked up a blossom. “This.”

Miko watched as James held the white blossom out before him. Then among the petals several nearly imperceptible flashes of transparencies sliced through the petals. In less than a second, the petals fell away in a multitude of smaller pieces.

“I make my shield razor thin and solid,” he explained. “Do this within the brain of a man, or say in his chest though I believe that would produce more visible results, and he dies. Instantly.”

More of the creatures fell.

“Or I could merely slice through his spine, paralyzing him for life. Sever a bowman’s fingers, a swordsman’s arm and you have rendered them impotent, yet still alive.” He turned to Miko. “Don’t you see what a heavy burden this is?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I think I do.”

“The hardest thing to kill is an idea. If my apprentices ever see me do this, it would only be a short time before they would figure out how. Word would spread and before long, a terror would be unleashed upon this world the likes it has never seen. Mages would use threat of quick, silent death to control others. No one would be safe. Once that happened there could only be one recourse.”

“What?”

“Every mage must die.”

“Surely there would be ones like yourself who would rise above the temptation to dominate and fight.”

“How? By the time you have your enemy identified, your brain is mush or if they want to make an example of you, slice and dice you like I did that flower.” He shook his head. “No, this thought, this idea must never be brought to light. I take risk enough in showing you.”

Miko looked slightly offended. “I would never share such horrible knowledge.”

He laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I know. But when only one knows, there is little chance of it spreading. Two doubles the chance and so forth.” He returned his attention to the creatures waiting hungrily on the outside of the vines. More fell.

“But, truth be told, I think there is something even more dangerous on this world than magic. Something that on my world laid waste to every part of it at one time or another.”

The two massive lizards fell and then the last two of the stalk-bearing creatures met their end.

“What is that?”

Turning full circle, James sought those still alive. Not finding any, he returned his attention to Miko. “The secret of the Illuminator’s Guild.”

“But that is just bright lights and loud noise,” Miko said, “something for celebrations.”

“Yep,” James nodded. “That was how it began on my world too.” He grew reflective. “Might in some ways explain the lack of mages on my world.” Then he shrugged. “May never know.”

Returning to where his suit had been laid out the night before, he picked it up and slid a leg in. “In any event we need to be underway. Still have a ways to go and no idea of the dangers along the way.”

The sun was full above the horizon before they set out. Already, vines had encroached upon the carcasses of the fallen creatures. Green tendrils wended their way from one body to the next. As they walked past where one creature had fallen atop another, a white blossom unfurled from a lone green tendril that had threaded its way to the top.

“I bet by tomorrow you wouldn’t even be able to tell creatures had died here.”

“Probably not,” Miko agreed.

Leaving the carcasses behind, they headed southeast. Yesterday they had to make their best guess as to where the Star lay, but today Miko could feel it in the distance. Though not entirely sure how far, where was no longer in doubt. Knowing that his quest to recover Morcyth’s most holy of artifacts drew near completion gave him a bounce in his step and vigor to his pace.

Paralleling the road to Hyrryth proved impractical. If not for Eddra’s carriage such a route would have sufficed. But the uneven terrain bounced her old bones to such an extent that Father Keller deemed it critical for her survival that they return to the road.

Scar argued that doing so opened them up to questions and possible trouble from the locals.

“If we get into hot water,” Father Keller said, “we can always bring out the Dark Mage’s apprentices in their mage robes to handle it.” He glanced to the two young lads. “Right?”

“Yes,” Azhan agreed. “We would only be too pleased to prove ourselves to our master’s friends.”

Hikai agreed.

The priest turned back to Scar. “See?”

“I would not trust our fate to those two.”

“The Reverend Father said they could be trusted,” Father Vickor chimed in. “So they can be trusted with our fate if the situation calls for it.”

Scar eyed the two priests and realized he would get nowhere so conceded the need to return to the road and not keep so close to the Waste.

“We may not get anything,” Potbelly whispered.

“Shhh,” Scar said, glancing about hoping his friend had not been overheard. When it looked as if the comment had gone unnoticed, he continued. “We will. Minions of evil gods are drawn to James like moths to a flame. If we remain within his company, we will get our beast.”

Louder so all could hear, he said, “The road is but an hour away. We should make it in no time.” Then to the priests, “How is our lady doing?”

“Not good,” Father Vickor replied. “She needs bed rest not being hauled from one end of the Empire to the other.”

“I would be more than happy to rid ourselves of this woman,” Scar stated. “But for some reason, James and Miko feel she is needful.”

“She may shed light on the shimmering in the sky.”

Scar turned to Azhan. “It would be best, Apprentice, if you spoke only when spoken to.”

Bristling at the harsh words, the young mage bit his tongue and remained silent.

“That’s better.”

Turning his horse eastward, Scar made for the road all the while scanning the horizon in the hopes of spying something moving, dangerous, and would draw a crowd.

The first hour over a dozen creatures fell prey to improvised slugs James gathered as they walked; nearly half again that, the next. The further they pushed into the Waste, the more numerous fell creatures became. Every few minutes one or the other would turn about to scan behind them for any creature sneaking up on them. When found, slugs would take them down.

“What I can’t understand is what keeps them alive?”

“Not sure what you mean.”

James gestured to the countryside. Off to their right five distinct creatures moved, straight ahead were three others, and nearly a dozen looked to be moving in a herd way off to their left. One of those in their path fell to a stone. They were everywhere.

“How can they survive? There is no food for them. Are they herbivores? If so, little remains of the sparse vegetation this land had before the war. The radiation burned it off so to speak.

“And if they are carnivores, upon what animal do they feed? Since encountering the first of these creatures,” he paused and turned to Miko, “how many gnawed-upon carcasses have we seen?”

“None,” replied Miko.

“Precisely my point. So, if vegetation is sparse and they aren’t eating animals, what is keeping them going?”

“Interesting question.”

Launching a stone forward, James dropped another one.

“Thought magic might be sustaining them, but realized I would have sensed that.”

“Radiation?” Miko suggested.

“Though I seriously doubt that, it remains my best guess.”

“They could be feeding on the radiation in some way like the vines do.”

James nodded. “Possibly.”

Launching two more stones cleared their immediate path. Those to either side had yet to take notice of the two interlopers passing through their territory.

“They sure are a nuisance though,” James said. “Wouldn’t really call them dangerous.”

“Not to one who can kill them readily from afar,” Miko replied. “Should one get loose in a town, they might not be so easily dealt with.”

“True enough.”

Gathering more stones, they continue on toward the Star.

Saying that travel upon the road was sparse was being generous. One lone rider had passed them shortly after they reached it, and that was two hours ago with nary another soul to be seen.

Eddra remained unconscious in her carriage with Father Keller continuing to watch over her. The swollenness of her face had eased though her eye remained puffy and closed. Despite his best efforts, her overall condition continued to deteriorate.

“We need to find an inn,” he announced. “I don’t think she can take much more of this.” He looked to Azhan. “Is there one close?”

The young mage shrugged. “I don’t know. This is Warlord Cytok’s territory and it would have been death for us to be here.”

Hikai nodded agreement.

Kip rode close. “I can ride ahead and try to find someplace suitable.”

“I’ll go with him,” offered Father Vickor.

Father Keller nodded. “That would be best.”

Seeing an opportunity to do something besides ride, Shorty offered to go as well.

“How about a farmhouse?”

Turning to Scar, Father Keller said, “That would do just fine.”

Scar pointed to the southeast where just within visual range rose most of what used to be walls of a farmhouse.

Father Keller didn’t look all that impressed. “Perhaps I should have specified a whole farmhouse; one which has the ability to keep the warmth in and the elements out.”

“It might work,” Potbelly said. “Most of the walls look sound.”

“All she needs is a single room of relative effectiveness where she can recuperate,” Scar added.

Father Keller’s expression indicated he had his doubts.

“I’ll take Father Vickor and young Kip here and we’ll check it out,” Jiron offered. “If it’s suitable, it would make a good place to hole up for a day or so.” He glanced to the priests. “I anticipate reaching Zixtyn at least two days before James and Miko. Better to rest now where we will not have to worry about unwanted eyes and ears. Be better for her in any event.”

“I can’t argue that,” Father Keller said.

“Then wait here and we’ll check it out.”

When Jira turned her horse to follow, Jiron shook his head. “You better stay here and watch over the priests.”

She laid her hand on her knife hilt and nodded solemnly.

“Just like her father,” came a whispered murmur.

Jiron’s gaze roved over the others but the orator remained silent. Though there were a few grins and smiles, he couldn’t determine exactly who had said it.

“Come on,” he said and kicked his horse into motion before his own grin broke out. Yes, he wanted a better life for his little Jira. But on the other hand, he was damn proud of her as she was. Woe be the boy who tried to kiss her before she was ready. She was a kick-ass little fire eater and there was nothing wrong with that.

It quickly became apparent that the farmhouse was in serious disrepair and hadn’t been occupied for quite some time. Vegetation had grown up to the walls and in some cases sprouted through the cracks.

The wall facing their approach was fairly intact. A small section to the right of the doorway had collapsed but otherwise looked decent. Riding around to the right, he found the adjoining wall to be completely intact. The back wall however was all but gone as was the entire fourth one. Two inner walls dividing off the bedroom showed some crumbling but retained most of their integrity. The roof was missing in places; a check in the bedroom revealed a small hole in the roof.

Jiron turned to Father Vickor. “Will this do?”

“For the moment, yes.” Then to Kip, “Hurry back and tell Father Keller that we shall camp here.”

“Yes, Father.”

“We’ll make a pallet for her over in the corner,” Father Vickor said, pointing to where complete walls joined beneath a sizeable stretch of intact roof.

“At most we shall stay here two days,” Jiron said. “We dare not risk not being in Zixtyn for too long before they arrive.”

“Two days should prove adequate.”

Jiron left the priest in the farmhouse and went outside to assess the tactical situation. They were a fair distance from the road so those passing by would not stumble upon them. If they kept smoke to a minimum they may be able to escape detection until they departed.

Kip reached the others and after a brief interchange with Father Keller, turned around and headed back. Jira joined him. Starting out at first at a walk, Jira kicked her horse into a gallop. Kip was quick to follow suit. She had a lead on him but he quickly gained it back.

Jiron walked to the front and arrived a moment before Jira passed him.

“I won!” she squealed, though her elation was short-lived. The look her father flashed her subdued her. He didn’t say anything, his displeasure at her dangerous gallop was quite clear.

“Sorry, Father.”

He gave Kip an equally disapproving glare. “You two are on firewood duty. Gather enough for two days.”

“But…”

His expression would brook no argument.

Her shoulders sagged as she sighed, “Yes, Father.”

Shorty and Tinok he sent out hunting small game.

The priests used some of her blankets, pillows and other cushionings from the carriage for a pallet then transferred her very carefully from the carriage and placed her on it.

To his fellow priest, Father Keller said, “She will need broth.” He pulled two blankets over her then brushed aside a wayward strand of gray hair.

“I will make a stew and drain off a bowl for her,” Father Vickor replied.

Father Keller laid a hand on her chest and Morcyth’s glow suffused them both. “Even with the carriage I’m afraid she hasn’t fared well on this journey,” he said with eyes closed. A moment later the glow faded and he looked to Father Vickor. “Life has a tenuous hold on her.”

“Two days rest will help.”

“I hope so. If not, I fear for her survival when we leave.”

“Where are you two going?”

Scar tightened the strap on the pack horse and turned to Jiron. “Me and Potbelly are going to reconnoiter a little closer to the Waste. Make sure no creature sneaks up on us.”

“Yes,” agreed Potbelly. “Wouldn’t do to have a pitched battle with poor old Eddra lying there on her deathbed and all.”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, suspiciously. “See that you don’t get yourselves killed.”

Grinning, Potbelly slapped him on the back. “We’ll be back before you leave.”

“If you aren’t,” Jiron warned, “meet us in Zixtyn.”

Scar swung up into the saddle. “You worry too much.”

“And you not enough.”

Scar just laughed. Then to Potbelly he said, “Let’s go.”

“See you in a few days,” Potbelly hollered.

They headed out due west with their packhorses in tow.

Chapter Thirty-One

Three hours later they came across tracks cutting diagonally across their path. From the depth of the indentation and the distance they were from each other, whatever it was had to be big.

“Came out of the Waste.”

Scar dismounted and gave the tracks a closer scrutiny. “Might be one of those stalky-creatures that Brother Willim killed.”

Scanning the land where the tracks were headed failed to reveal their owner.

“How long ago?” Potbelly asked.

Standing, Scar shook his head. “Not sure. Less than a day I would think.”

“Should we go for it?”

Weighing the possibility of catching it before their time ran out versus encountering another coming from the Waste, Scar finally shook his head. “I could be wrong on the time. If less than twelve hours we might stand a chance. Besides, it’s moving toward populated areas and whoever it encounters will surely kill it.”

“Be a waste of time following it only to find it dead.”

Grabbing the pommel of his saddle, Scar swung up. “Exactly. We’re close to the Waste. Bound to be others.”

“Then let us find them.”

The dead patch of vines they sat in was barely fifteen feet across. It had been the only one large enough to have an inner dead patch they had seen today. Others had held small patches less than a meter in diameter to ones with healthy patches of vines forty-fifty feet wide whose center growth had yet to even begin to wither.

“Once we leave here there’s a chance we may not find another where we can remove our suits,” James commented. “At some point we are going to come to where the vines have barely begun to feed on the radiation. The patches will be smaller and less numerous.”

He glanced to Miko when his friend failed to reply and found him with his eyes closed.

“You must be more tired than I thought…” he said quietly to himself.

“No.” Opening his eyes, Miko turned his head toward James. “Merely listening to the Star.”

“It’s talking to you?”

“Not exactly.” Sitting up, he tried to find the words. “I can hear it, and it fills me with great peace and contentment.”

“Like listening to wind in the leaves or waves crashing on a beach.”

Miko smiled. “Something like that.”

“Do you know where it is?”

He raised his hand and pointed to the southwest. “Half a day’s journey I believe.”

James eyed the position of the sun. “It’s mid-afternoon now. Make it there by dark?”

Miko took a moment to gauge the distance to the Star, then nodded. “I think we could,” he replied. “Or a little after.”

“Then I propose we stay here until just before dawn. That way we could get the Star and be out by nightfall.”

“Very well.”

“Same watch schedule as last night?”

“That would be fine,” Miko said. Having the late watch, he laid back and while James busied himself finding rocks and killing those creatures that wandered by, allowed the song of the Star to lull him to sleep.

“Maybe we should have gone after that first one.”

After finding the earlier set of tracks, they had decided to follow it back toward the Waste but all that had led them to was disappointment.

Scar shook his head. “Had we followed it we’d be grousing about how we shouldn’t’ve.”

“I suppose so.”

The tracks had meandered aimlessly across the desert. By midafternoon they came to another of the signs warning travelers to stay out.

“Didn’t Brother Willim tell James he could travel an hour or two beyond this point and still be relatively safe?”

Scar nodded. “He most certainly did.” Nudging his horse, he continued past the sign and pushed further into the Waste.

Despite scouring the horizon for signs of creatures both rare and exotic, they had little luck during their two hours. When carcasses of dead animals started appearing, they decided to withdraw a ways and camp for the night.

Potbelly unloaded a small chest and four short poles from one packhorse. Each pole had two crystals glowing with power, one at the top and the other midway down. The lower end was sharpened for insertion into the ground. The chest was rectangular and made of wood, two feet by one. Just above the latch was an engraved anvil, the symbol of he from whom they bought it.

“I’ll get set up,” he said. “Maybe one will come calling tonight.”

“Do that,” Scar said. “I’ll get a fire going.”

Fifty feet from camp he set the four poles into the ground, one at each corner of a square ten paces across. The box he left closed and set nearby.

Returning to camp, he removed a stack with half a dozen six-inch cylindrical paper tubes. They had acquired these from the Illuminator’s Guild some time ago. Thought they might prove useful in this venture. Potbelly removed the tubes and set them side by side upon the ground near his bedroll.

“What do we do if this stuff doesn’t work?”

“Kill Alexander of course,” Scar replied. “For what we paid, these had better work exactly as promised.”

Three years ago Scar and Potbelly got wind through their contacts of a fellow over in the Kirken Federation who made magical items to order. Supposedly, he could make any kind of item that would do the most amazing things. At the time they had merely been curious, but later when one of their pit fighter scouting trips took them that way, they sought him out.

It took some doing for he wasn’t exactly in the good graces of the ruling council of the Kirken Federation and had gone underground. They had been assured that if they could find him, and had enough gold, they could convince him to help. A month and a score of dead ends and false trails later, they found themselves before the dark maw of a nondescript cave.

Within they were told stood the remains of three stone pedestals. One would have a crack at the top just wide enough to slip through a coin. If they dropped ten gold coins through that crack, they would meet Alexander. They had found the pedestals, dropped in the required coinage, and waited.

At first nothing happened. A minute ticked by, then two and still no Alexander. Thinking they were being cheated or played the fool, Scar was all for smashing the pedestal to get his coins back. Finding a suitable boulder, he picked it up and brought it to the pedestal. Raising it high, he slammed it down. Before it could hit, the boulder abruptly stopped in midair.

“Sorry about that, gentlemen,” a voice said. “Had to make sure you were who you said you were.”

Scar and Potbelly whirled around and there was Alexander.

He looked nothing like what they had expected. Saying he was scrawny would have been kind. Alexander bordered on the emaciated. Roughly five feet three and all of ninety pounds, a breath of wind could have bowled him over.

Upon his head he had a broad-brimmed gray pointy hat that was two sizes too big. He wore a gray robe that came to his ankles and carried a staff bearing a trio of glowing gems set into the head.

Potbelly eyed him critically. “How old are you?” If the boy was fifteen he’d be surprised.

“Does it matter?” Alexander replied. Tipping his staff forward, the gems upon it glowed brightly. The boulder in Scar’s hands moved laterally through the air until settling down to where it had originally rested before Scar picked it up.

“Uh, no,” Scar replied. “I guess it doesn’t.”

“So what can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Can you, as we hear, make magical items?”

Alexander nodded. “You have heard correctly.” When Scar started to continue, Alexander held up a hand. “But I must tell you that I will not craft any item that is malignant in nature, nor will I do anything that I perceive could conceivably cause harm to others.”

“You must not get many customers then,” quipped Potbelly.

The boy shrugged. “What would you like me to do for you?”

“How much will it cost us?” Scar asked.

“Depends on what you wish me to do.” He paused a moment. “Regardless, it won’t be cheap.”

They explained about the hell hounds encountered during the war, and how they wished some way to capture one and transport it back to the Pits. Then once there, have a way to contain it so it will not escape or be a danger to others yet still be able to put it on view for paying customers.

“Can you do it?” Potbelly asked.

“It’s not if I can,” Alexander explained. “It’s if you are willing to pay.”

Scar looked slightly annoyed. “So you can do it?”

“I believe so.”

“How much?”

“Twelve hundred golds.”

“What?” Scar exploded. “Twelve hundred golds? Are you out of your mind?”

“I would think eight hundred closer to the mark,” Potbelly argued.

“I do not haggle,” Alexander stated. “The price is what it is. Either agree to pay,” his staff dipped and pointed toward the cavern opening, “or leave.”

Scar was ready to turn and walk out when Potbelly grabbed him by the arm. “Let us confer a moment.” Pulling his friend off to the side, he whispered, “Even at twelve hundred, we’ll make a profit.”

“How do you figure? He’s trying to rob us.”

“People will want to see this hell hound. We have them pay an extra fee to see it. Say two silvers, four if the crowds stay heavy. We’ll get our money back in a year, maybe two. And those who come to look, may stay to watch the matches…buy the food…bet? Never know, we could gain a whole new set of regulars because we would offer something unique.”

Still feeling like he’s being cheated, Scar nodded. “Very well.”

Potbelly returned to Alexander with a glaring Scar behind. He held out his hand. “We accept your terms.”

The boy didn’t at first take the hand. “I demand payment up front.”

“Half,” Scar said.

“As you wish.” Alexander took Potbelly’s hand and they shook.

“Do you know James?” Scar asked. “The mage that took down the Empire?”

“I know of him,” the boy replied.

“He’s a friend of ours.”

For the first time, Alexander’s face which had been stoic throughout turned grimmer. “Are you telling me this as a threat?”

“Merely letting you know who you are dealing with.”

“Well, the fact that you are here, right now seeking my help, tells me that either this James is a good friend but can’t make these items which means he isn’t a threat to me at all; or he isn’t that good of a friend for he refused to make these items for you. Either way, I don’t see where I should be worried.”

Scar bristled, but Potbelly’s steadying hand kept him from responding.

Alexander’s grin faded. “So when can I expect my payment?”

“We must return to the City of Light for the coins,” Potbelly replied.

“As you wish.”

“What about our ten golds?”

Alexander turned to Scar. “Price of admission. Now, if you gentlemen don’t mind leaving, I have other matters that require my attention.”

“You cross us and we’ll kill you,” Scar vowed.

Alexander waved the threat away dismissively.

A month later they returned to the cave and dropped off the first payment. Six months later a message arrived at the Pits stating that their items were ready and to not forget the rest of the gold.

True to his word, Alexander had their equipment ready. After a short demonstration on how to set up the equipment for capture, transport, and ultimate confinement of the creature within the Pits, they traveled back to the City of Light.

For months they tried hunting for the elusive hell hounds or any other creature out of the norm, all with nothing to show. Either their luck had been poor or creatures such as they had in mind were rare in the extreme. And so it was like a god-send when they happened to overhear Tinok and Father Tullin discussing Miko’s impending adventure into the heart of the Empire.

They packed up their capture and transport equipment; what they would use to confine the creature they left at the Pits, and volunteered to help James in his quest to reunite with his family.

Fire made, dinner ate and with daylight all but gone, they grew worried as to the likelihood of success. They scrounged every stick larger than a finger and kept the fire roaring high for hours. It had been their hope that a creature passing in the dark would see the flames and investigate.

When they burned all but what had been set aside to see them through the night and the following morning, Scar grew impatient. He paced back and forth and gazed at the darkness surrounding them. He would pause now and then to listen for the tell-tale sound of an approaching creature.

“I bet if James was here we would have seen fifty of them by now.”

Potbelly sighed. “The Waste is a large place and we are on the outer edge. It was a longshot in any event.”

Scar eyed the six Illuminator sticks lying nearby.

“We only have another six on the pack horse,” Potbelly advised.

“Don’t care,” Scar replied. “What good are they going to do us if we never use them?”

The Illuminator tubes were made of a sturdy paper with one end flattened; the other stuffed with cotton. Scar took the tube and pulled out the cotton. He felt inside until finding the wick and gently pulled it forth. They had been cautioned against pulling too hard for if the wick came free, the tube would not be usable. Taking a burning brand from the fire, he held it to the wick and waited until it started to crackle, then raised the tube high.

One second… two… then a shower of sparks burst from the end. From out of the sparks a larger flaring ball of fire rose high into the air where it exploded in a brilliant, widespread blossoming ball of red light.

Potbelly stepped to his friend and brushed off several smoldering embers, remnants of the initial burst.

“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.

Chapter Thirty-Two

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.

“Sleep will fix what ails her, if anything can.”

“I hope so,” Jira said. She went to Eddra’s side and with a damp cloth, dabbed at her forehead.

“Keep an eye on her, okay?”

Jira nodded. “I will.”

Father Vickor indicated for Jiron to accompany him outside.

“I did not want to say anything in front of Jira,” he said quietly, “but I fear she may not survive.”

“Are you certain?”

“No, and so there is some room for hope. Healing is an art, one which I have unfortunately not practiced enough. Back at the temple there are others more adept than I.”

“Do what you can.”

“As Morcyth wills.”

James woke to find Miko staring off toward the Star.

“Still there?”

Miko turned at his voice, a grave expression on his face.

“What is it?”

“I am not sure.” Returning to gaze off toward the Star, he said, “Something does not feel right.”

“Is it still singing to you?”

“Oh yes. That has not changed. It is only…”

James came to stand next to him. “Only what?”

“I do not know,” he sighed. “Have you ever entered a room and caught just the barest whiff of an unfamiliar odor? There for a moment then never to return?”

“Sometimes,” James replied, unsure exactly what he was talking about. “Is it concerning the Star, or where we are?”

“The Star, I think.”

“Maybe it is just impatient to be reunited with you.”

Miko chuckled. “Your words are truer than you know.”

“Just don’t start calling it ‘my precious’ or anything like that.”

“But it is precious.”

James laid a hand on his arm. “Now, I was just kidding. But seriously, don’t.”

Miko eyed him quizzically for a moment, then nodded. “As you wish.”

“Thank you.”

Their patch of vines was nearly surrounded by the stalky creatures. James enlisted Miko’s aid in gathering stones with which he could dispatch them. He’d rather use stones than his “assassin” spell; that spell made him feel…unclean for some reason.

After every third or fourth creature was slain, James would watch the sky for any sign of the shimmering. He began to believe that his theory on it responding only to prolonged magic usage was correct for it never materialized. With intermittent rests to avoid attracting the shimmering field, it took nearly an hour until the last creature on the edge of the vines was taken out; dozens more still roamed in all directions.

Once the way was clear, they left the patch and Miko led the way to the Star.

“Be there by noon,” he said.

“Let’s hope so,” James replied. “Sooner we get it the sooner we will be able to leave this place behind.”

Less than a half hour away from the vine patch, James’ attention was drawn to a stalky creature off to their right. What it was about that particular one that had caught his eye he hadn’t at first figured out. But then realization set in. Where all others were moving either away from the center of the Waste, or laterally to it, this one was moving directly for it, and not in the familiar loping gait used by the others. This one moved quickly.

Two stones flew in quick succession and took out a couple stalkers heading their way. Then a third, and still James kept casting glances toward the fast-moving creature. It was far enough away so as not to pose a threat.

“It has something.”

Miko’s words brought to clarity what had bothered him. The two tentacle-like appendages, similar to those with which the other creature had carried Jira, held something close to its underbelly; something about the size of a child.

James turned to Miko but the high priest was already in motion. Racing after, James readied a stone for when he drew close enough. At this distance, even with magical assistance, he dared not risk hitting what it carried.

Miko’s sword leapt from its scabbard as he ran. He was nearly upon the creature when he came to a sudden stop; he held up his hand.

“It is not a child,” he said.

What the creature held was covered in fur and a tail poked out from between where the tentacle-like arms encircled it.

“Dog?” James asked.

“Most likely, or some other predator.”

Despite the fact that they were within twenty feet of the stalker, a distance that before had always drawn the creature’s attention, this one paid them no heed, merely continued on its way. A stone took it in the side and blasted out the other, causing the creature to collapse.

Miko approached.

“Careful,” James advised. “It may be radioactive.”

The high priest nodded. Using his sword, he severed one of the tentacles and worked to unravel it from around the animal.

“Dog,” Miko announced when enough of the canine had been revealed. Its chest rose and fell. “Alive, too. But unconscious.”

“Must have used its poisoned darts on it.”

Most likely.”

“Carrying it back to its den perhaps?”

Miko glanced to him and shrugged. “Maybe.” Then he glanced about the area. More of the stalkers were en route toward them. “We should continue on.”

“Yeah, and quickly.” Picking up three stones from the ground, he used one on a stalker that had gotten too close and another on a stalker along their intended path. The third he held ready.

Setting out, Miko kept a brisk pace while James followed along behind.

Less than an hour passed before they saw another stalker with a victim hugged to its underbelly. It too was heading into the Waste. This one carried a woman. After they reached the creature and James took it out, they saw that she no longer lived. Her skin was a deep red, dried blood caked about her eyes and patches of her hair were missing.

“It must have been carrying her for some time.”

“Why do you say that?” Miko asked.

“Radiation poisoning,” James replied. “Would have taken a couple days for her to succumb to it….” He paused a moment then said, “Unless they normally radiate a lethal amount.”

Miko glanced to him.

“A high dose can kill you quickly. Or so I understand.”

Morcyth’s glow surrounded Miko then flowed to the woman. He nodded his head. “Yes, I see the damage. It is identical to what we found in the birds.”

“I thought so.”

Two more stones and the area was once more clear.

James pointed off to the east. “There’s another.”

This time, the victim carried by the stalker was clearly not human; the legs were too long, a colt perhaps.

“You know what this reminds me of?”

Miko turned to his friend. “What?”

“Ants.”

“Ants?”

“Yep,” James replied with a nod. He pointed westward at yet another victim-laden stalker. “Ants go out empty but come back full.”

“But going back where?”

“That’s the question. Either way, we need to get the Star and soon,” James said. “We’ll worry about the whys and wherefores concerning these creatures later.”

“Brother Willim would be most interested to learn of this.”

“Good idea. When we get to Zixtyn, we’ll see if we can find the priest he mentioned and fill him in.”

The rest of the morning passed as the earlier potion had; stones felling stalkers and encountering more of those carrying victims into the Waste. Only one other carried a human, a boy this time. He too was deceased by extreme radiation poisoning. James felt nauseated.

When they came up behind one carrying an animal, James turned to Miko and asked, “Can you point toward where the Star lays?” He groaned when Miko’s arm rose and moved to align with the path of the stalker.

“I was afraid of that.”

“It is moving toward the Star?” Miko asked, surprised.

“So it would seem.”

“Why?”

“We’ll discover that when we get there,” he said aloud. Internally, his mind came up with all sorts of explanations, all of which tended toward the dark and macabre.

As noon approached, the number of creatures leaving the Waste gradually diminished while those returning with victims increased. Then the ground grew uneven as dark stones of varying shapes and sizes rose from the ground.

Coming to a large one that towered over both, Miko paused and reached out his hand. Just before he touched the stone, he quickly pulled it back.

“Something wrong?”

“Do not touch the stone.” Morcyth’s glow enveloped his hand then extended to the stone, passing over and through it. “Evil.”

James walked to the other side. “No wonder.”

The glow faded. “What do you mean?” Seeing James wave him over, he walked around the stone to join his friend.

James pointed to a series of engravings set into the hard surface. Though broken and severely damaged, the three dots and lines of the Warrior Priest symbol were clearly visible. “It must be part of Ith-Zirul, thrown here when it blew.”

“Then we are close.”

“I would say so,” James replied. “If this is here, then we must be close to ground zero.” When Miko glanced at him and arched an eyebrow, he added, “It means we are near the point where the explosion took place; within a mile or two at least.”

Miko closed his eyes. “Yes. I can feel the Star. We are very close.”

“Then let us not tarry.”

He could sense the Star very clearly now, knew almost to the foot how far ahead of them it lay. James was very close as to his estimation; slightly more than two miles. He quickened his pace.

Jutting stones, remnants of Dmon-Li’s high temple scarred the countryside. Most were hardly more than small chunks while a few sections of walls, floors or maybe ceilings laid skewed at an angle, towering over them. At one point their path led them through an arched doorway set into a section of a wall rising fifty feet high. The odd part was, the doorway was upside down. Once through, they continued on.

Nearly halfway there, Miko felt James’ hand on his arm.

“Look there,” James said, pointing off to their right.

A victim-bearing stalker, one that they had been keeping an eye on since before entering the rubble area, had come to a stop. The tentacle-like arms released the small hog it carried; the dead hog tumbled to the ground. The stalker then turned about and began heading back out of the Waste.

“What is it…,” Miko began then stopped when the ground beneath the hog began to rise.

Dozens of very fine tendrils burst through the ground. They moved first one way and then the other. Those that encountered the hog proceeded to twine around it. Soon the hog was nearly entirely cocooned by the tendrils.

“Have you ever seen anything like that before in your life?”

Miko shook his head. “Never even heard about it.”

Puffs of dirt plumed in the air from the ground directly surrounding the now-entwined hog. Small at first, they grew to great geysers full of dust and clods of dirt.

James gasped when a sheath, and that’s all he could think to call it, a sheath of flesh, skin, something extended from the ground as if following the tendrils. It continued rising from the ground to completely envelope the hog. Once the hog was fully contained, it sank back into the ground.

“Damn,” James cursed. “What was that?”

“I do not know,” Miko whispered. “But it would seem the stalked creatures are feeding it.”

James looked at him incredulously.

“We watched the stalker drop the hog, turn and leave. Then whatever that thing was took it,” he shrugged. “I do not know how else to describe it.”

“Curious.”

“Indeed.”

Off in the distance a ways, another stalker approached carrying a burden. Just as the previous one had done, it deposited its cargo, turned about and left. A few seconds later, that thing emerged from the ground to take it.

James looked to the ground beneath their feet, then glanced to Miko.

“We better be careful,” he said.

Miko nodded. “I think we should hurry and get the Star. With that in hand, I will be able to handle anything that should arise.”

“Then let’s go.”

They hadn’t gone twenty feet when Miko abruptly stopped. He pointed to the ground some thirty feet ahead. “Look.”

At first James didn’t see what it was that Miko was pointing at. Then the ground moved ever so slightly as if something large lurked just beneath the surface.

“Is it that thing that took the hog?” Miko asked.

“Haven’t a clue,” replied James, “though that would be a good guess.”

Angling to the right, they gave that area a wide berth. A few feet farther and they reached another place where something lurked just beneath the surface. They paused again. Scanning the immediate area, they notice several other instances where the ground moved ever so slightly. James readied a stone.

“Do you think that is wise?”

“I would prefer not to be in the middle of those things when they all decide dinner wandered into their midst.”

“They may not notice us.”

“Yeah,” James replied, “and then again, they might.”

Miko reached down and picked up a rock the size of his fist. “Let me try something first.”

“Okay.”

Aiming for the nearest lurker, he lobbed the stone and watched it land, bounce off, and roll as it hit the ground. The lurker failed to so much as twitch.

Miko approached the lurker.

“Be careful,” James cautioned.

Stopping within a couple feet, Miko used his foot to gently scrape away the thin layer of dirt and rocks covering it. He waved James over.

James got there just as the lurker bowed out at the top as if something firm tried to push its way out. For a brief second, the outward distention of the lurker resembled a hog’s head.

“Did you see that?” James asked incredulously.

“Yes I did.”

Turning to Miko, James asked, “What did you see?”

“It looked like the body of the hog was being drawn through the lurker. You?”

“Same.” James brushed off more of the lurker’s dirt and rock covering. It was an off-brown, rough, and every few seconds, a tremor would course through it from left to right. Glancing left, James pointed and said, “So the stalker brings the hog and drops it there. Then that other thing grabs it and next we see it passing through here on its way to…”

He turned to the right, “To where the Star is.” He glanced to Miko.

“Why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” James replied as he eyed what he was growing to believe was not a creature lurking below to pounce on unsuspecting travelers. Rather an intestine-like conveyance system through which stalker victims were transported. Possible scenarios played out in his mind as to what could be waiting for them at the end of the line.

“You look worried.”

Snapping out of his reverie, James nodded. “I am. Let’s get the Star and get out of here.”

It became very clear that the underground conveyance conduit they encountered was but one in a labyrinthine network. The entire area was riddled with them moving in every which direction. Most were right at or just below the surface while others had their top layers exposed. One was completely in the open. It looked like a very long worm that pulsed periodically with rippling motions that started somewhere out in the Waste, then progressed to the central network area somewhere ahead.

The network of conveyance tubes paid them no attention whatsoever and the number of stalkers had dropped to almost nothing. Since first discovering the network below the sands, James had only had to drop one.

Conveyance tubes began gradually emerging from the ground the further they went. An inch or two at first, they eventually rose until dozens laid nearly completely out of the ground. The outer skin was leathery yet pliable. One climbed off the ground and passed through a window in the side of a large chunk of temple debris. James watched in horror as the bulge indicating the passage of a victim moved through it. It hesitated slightly upon reaching the window ledge, but then worked its way over and vanished on the other side.

“Brother Willim’s people have their work cut out for them.”

Miko nodded. “This cannot be allowed to flourish.”

They continued forward, avoiding as much direct contact with the conveyance tubes as well as working through the debris field. Coming to a series of massive edifices, they were forced to climb up one wall and through a doorway to avoid having to climb upon the tubes. Miko gave James a boost up.

Surprisingly enough, beyond the doorway was a complete room with four walls, floor and ceiling, all completely intact. In the wall opposite stood a wooden door; closed and intact. If not for the fact that the room was tilted at an angle, he could almost believe he was somewhere else.

Reaching down, he pulled Miko up.

“What are the odds this room survived like this?” James mused when Miko joined him in the room.

“Very long I would imagine.” Then he grinned, “But I bet Scar could put a point on it.”

James laughed. “I bet he could.”

At the door, they found it locked.

“I got this,” James said. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the door for a moment then opened his eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

James smiled and reached out. A gentle shove caused a rectangular section of the door, one large enough for them to pass through, to fall away.

“How did you do that?”

“A variation of my assassin spell,” he explained. “If I can alter my shields to sever flesh, figured I could do so with other material.” Then he glanced to Miko, “Sectioning the door took more magic; must be due to the increased density of wood versus flesh.”

“No prison could hold you.”

“Not anymore.”

Miko laid a hand on his shoulder. “This is a fearsome ability.”

“And a weighty responsibility. I dare not allow the idea that this is possible to get out.”

About to reply, Miko stepped to the opening in the door and gasped. “Oh, my,” he breathed and stepped through.

From the doorway the stone floor stretched four feet before coming to a jagged end. But it was not the prospect of climbing down that had caused such a reaction. Rather it was the large pit not fifty yards from where they stood. Had they been on the ground with all the tubes and chunks of debris in the way they may not have seen it until right on top of it.

The pit itself was at least a hundred feet across, maybe more. A massive structure formed of the same material as the tubes rose from the center of the pit to tower over twenty feet above the desert; its lower end disappeared within the depths of the pit. Two stalks, identical to those upon the stalkers only much larger extended from the very top. Radial anchor lines secured the structure to the sides of the pit. Scores of tubes coming in from every part of the Waste connected to six extremely large tube sections extending from the central edifice at radial intervals.

“What is that?”

James shook his head. He watched the approach of a tell-tale bulge. It traveled along until reaching one of the six large primary tubes extending from the structure rising from the pit. There it passed through and disappeared.

“Please tell me the Star is not at the bottom of that pit.”

Miko closed his eyes and listened to the Star; then he turned to James. The expression on his face said it all.

“Damn.”

“How should we proceed?”

Gazing to the sun that was already dipping past noon, James said, “Whatever we do, we need to do it now.”

Miko nodded but remained quiet.

“Okay, we go in, get the Star then destroy that thing.”

“Should not be too hard.”

James turned to Miko and saw the grin.

“Yeah. Piece of cake.”

“Tart.”

“What?”

“I like tarts more than cake.”

James rolled his eyes. “Now is not the time to be funny.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, am I correct in assuming that once you get your hands on the Star, that you will be able to take that thing down?”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean, possibly?”

“What I mean is, is that Morcyth does not allow wanton destruction of the natural order,” he explained.

James pointed to the structure rising from the pit. “Do you call that natural?”

Miko shrugged. “It matters not if you or I consider such a thing as unnatural. What matters is if Morcyth does.”

“So we might find our lives in jeopardy and the Star remain impotent?”

“I did not say that,” Miko argued. “There is a difference between destruction for the sake of destruction, and destruction in the interest of saving a life. Should I come across a rhino-lizard that is non-aggressive, I could not use the Star to kill it. However, if it was charging me, I could.”

“That’s splitting hairs.”

“Gods do not always make sense. As high priest, I must endeavor to fulfill the desires of my god whether or not I understand them, agree with them, or even if it should mean my life.” He eyed James carefully. “Do you understand that?”

Grudgingly, he said, “Yes.”

“But take heart. Morcyth has yet to let us down. He will be there should the situation call for it.”

“I hope so.”

From their vantage point, they scouted for a route to the pit that would enable them to avoid climbing over incoming tubes. Best they could do was one where only two had to be crossed. Jumping off the end of the broken floor, they carefully made their way to the first tube.

James crossed first. He put his hands against the side of the tube and could feel its subtle vibration. Pushing slightly, he backed up quickly in case his action elicited a reaction. The tube remained dormant.

“Perhaps get a running start,” Miko suggested.

“Good idea.”

Hoping to do better than he had in gym class when they were forced to do the pommel horse, he ran forward and leapt with hands outstretched. They connected with the top of the tube, slid and he impacted the side with his entire weight.

The side bowed in nearly a third of the way.

“Get back!” Miko hollered.

Afraid he had waked it up or something, he lurched back.

Ripples coursed along the tube from his point of impact. He looked on in worry as they coursed their way toward the big, main tube to which it connected. The ripple struck it and dissipated. By this time the bowed in section had already fixed itself.

He and Miko looked about the area for incoming trouble and breathed a sigh of relief when none materialized.

Miko turned to him, grinned and said, “Nice.”

“Think you can do better?”

“I can but try.”

Six quick steps, Miko leapt, hands landed firmly and he leveraged himself over without any other part of his body touching the tube. He stumbled upon landing and fell; which made James feel better for some reason. The tube only showed the barest hint of bowing in.

Once Miko regained his feet, James tried it a second time. This time he didn’t try to vault over. Instead he threw himself bodily on top of it; his weight collapsing the tube to nearly half its regular diameter. He then rolled and scrambled off the other side.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he said.

A small popping sound drew his attention back to the tube. Where he had belly-whomped, green ichor oozed from a small crack. The crack grew in size as the tube pushed back to regain its former shape. As the crack grew, so too did the flow of green ichor.

“Uh-oh.”

“Get back,” Miko warned.

James back-stepped until he came abreast of Miko.

The crack grew to several inches before small tendrils emerged, tendrils very much like those that had earlier gripped the hog before it was taken. They intertwined with each other and had the crack mended and the flow of green ichor staunched in short order.

Miko glanced to James. “We should be more careful in the future.”

James just glared at him. “Come on, there’s one more to cross.” Then it should get interesting, he added silently to himself.

The next tube proved slightly easier. Having done it once, James knew better what to do. This time he didn’t belly-whomp, rather he did more of a high jump. He leapt, his feet coming up until he was almost horizontal at the point where he reached the top of the tube. His back did hit the top of the tube, but rolling off quickly prevented such a sizeable indentation as he made the last time.

Miko allowed the quivers produced by James’ crossing to subside before he crossed over. This time he landed much more balanced and kept his feet.

They were close to the pit now. The rising structure was definitely organic; its sides could be seen undulating ever so slightly. Dark green veins coursed throughout the outer skin. Making their way to the pit’s edge, they discovered the structure vanished into the darkness below. All along the sides as far down as the light would reach, anchor lines held the structure in place.

James stood at the edge and peered down. “That’s a ways.” He glanced to Miko. “Can’t even see the bottom.”

“The Star is down there,” he said with absolute surety.

“Wouldn’t we be able to see its glow from here?”

Miko shrugged. “I do not know.” Closing his eyes, he felt the Star’s presence. “It is waiting.”

“We could use those anchor lines to climb down. Not sure how this thing is going to take us clambering all over it.”

Just then the structure gave a shudder. James and Miko backed away from the edge; all the while looking for the cause. A bulge appeared in one of the six large tubes where it connected to the main structure. Unlike the others, this one was being pushed outward. It traveled through the main tube, making its way past several of the smaller conveyance tube branchings.

James hopped over a tube to avoid losing sight of the traveling bulge.

At roughly fifty feet from the pit, it came to a short off-shoot extending less than five feet from the main tube and having a diameter over half again that of the conveyance tubes. The bulge slowed its progress then stopped just before the off-shoot. A shudder went through the tube and it throbbed like a heartbeat along the area surrounding the bulge.

Green ichor oozed from the end of the short off-shoot as the bulge was pushed into it. Then a flood of the green fluid was expelled as a slimy mass squeezed its way out. It plopped onto the ground with a squish.

“What is that?”

James ignored the question for it began to move.

An outer membrane split open and an animal’s leg emerged; another quickly followed. Then came a head with four stalks upon it.

“A stalker,” James said. “This is where they come from.”

It stood on wobbly legs, took several hesitant steps, then headed out toward the Waste. It got two feet before a stone took it down.

James turned to Miko. “Couldn’t just let it walk out.”

Miko nodded.

Moving to the pool of green ichor, James asked, “Can you tell if this is radioactive? Or at least has a higher concentration of radiation than this area?”

Morcyth’s glow surrounded Miko, then extended to the green ichor. It remained for several moments before vanishing.

“I would say the concentration is very high.”

James nodded. “Then we should try to avoid coming into contact with it. These suits will protect us from heightened ambient radiation but I doubt how well they will do if they were deluged with it.”

Miko’s gaze turned toward the large structure filling the pit. “That is full of the stuff.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“And if it should rupture or otherwise expel the green ichor while we are down there…?”

“Then we would die.”

Miko considered the structure. “Perhaps you should stay topside while I go down.”

About to argue the point, James took a second look at the anchor lines he would have to climb down, then back up. “You may be right,” he finally said.

“Make sure nothing sneaks up on us,” Miko said. “If you are up here, you will also be in a good position to see if this thing decides to do something unpleasant.” He jerked a thumb at the structure.

James nodded. “Just be careful. Those gloved hands are not going to work as well as your own hands.”

“I figured as much.”

Moving to the side of the pit again, Miko looked for a viable way down. The anchor lines were spaced fairly evenly in a rotating pattern. Looked as if each successive level of them were skewed slightly out of line with the ones immediately above and below. He sat on the edge of the pit near one connecting to the pit wall only a foot below the top and set his foot on it. Firm yet pliable, it took his weight without snapping.

“Here I go.”

“Good luck.”

“Be back up before you know it.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Miko slowly worked his way down through the tiers of anchor lines. By the fifth, Morcyth’s glow surrounded him to provide a little light.

James watched from the top. It looked as if the pit went down quite a ways; the glow had yet to reach the bottom.

Testing each hand-grip, Miko would make sure it was secure before stepping down to the next level. The anchor lines were not slick, but the plastic coverings of his feet and hands made the descent treacherous at best. By the time he had reached the sixth level, his feet had slipped out beneath him twice and his hands had lost their grip no less than three times. Reflexes developed on the streets of Bearn proved adequate to the task and he had been able to recover.

After Miko’s fourth nearly fatal slip, James was glad he had decided to remain on top. The way down would have been bad enough; trying to come back up would have been a nightmare for him.

He alternated between observing Miko’s progress and scanning the horizon for trouble. The structure seemed oblivious to Miko’s encroachment into its lower regions. It quivered at one point and caused him no end of worry, not until the tell-tale bulge emerged from the central structure and traveled to one of what he thought of as a birthing port. He dropped the stalker that emerged and returned his attention to Miko who by now was more of a glowing form in the shadows.

“Come on,” he murmured. He wished to have Star in hand and be on their way back.

He had the hang of the anchor lines now. Periods of slippage had all but vanished, what remained was manageable.

Green ichor oozed in droplets around the twelfth tier. Dried buildup coated the lower section of the structure and had even somehow managed to coat the anchor lines in places. Maneuvering along the lines to avoid this new, deadly obstacle proved a challenge. The next level of anchor lines was not always situated in a suitable position for him to easily reach; and with the green ichor reducing the available hand and foot holds, he was forced to take more chances than he would have liked. Instead of a steady climb downward, he would have to at times leap laterally in order to gain a position above an anchor line on the next level.

At level twenty-one, he had to do just that. The anchor line directly below him was nearly covered in the green ichor; the one directly to its left held only a fraction. He had to leap laterally to the one above it, then climb down. Only problem was the one he had to leap to was itself fairly covered in the green stuff. One side was relatively clear and he aimed for that section. Readying himself, he leapt.

Soaring through the darkness, he hit the anchor line hard. Arms wrapped around it for dear life, he stayed his momentum and kept from falling to the depths below. Taking a moment to recover his balance, he continued holding on while turning his attention to the anchor line on the level below where he planned to go to next.

Had to scoot left half a foot in order to avoid a smear of green ichor on the one below. Moving a hand leftward, he felt the anchor line drop downward a miniscule bit. Eyes darting to where it adhered to the wall, he saw that it had begun to come loose. His impact must have dislodged it somewhat.

Very slowly he scooted his hands to the left; first one hand, then the other. Inch by inch he worked his way over. Each time he felt the anchor line shift ever so slightly with his movement. Then just as he reached a point where it would be safe to descend, the anchor line gave way.

Miko let go of it, twisted and came down hard on the one below. Again, a death-grip saved his life.

Above him, the anchor line hung nearly vertical from where it remained attached to the structure. Green ichor ran down the line from where its dislodging from the wall and subsequent new downward angle had ruptured the outer surface to the end and the ichor now dripped precariously close to where he hung.

Spying the next anchor line to which he needed to go, he saw it had most of its surface clear of the ichor and swung down to it. From his new perch, Morcyth’s glow revealed the bottom of the structure. Not much below that was the bottom of the pit. It was clear that filling the bottom was a pool of the green ichor. One more section of anchor lines remained below where he hung.

The main surface ended in a curvature that was symmetrical. However, there was a tumor-like protrusion extending downward for another five feet. It was about two feet in diameter, pale and slightly luminescent. The protrusion throbbed and vibrated in regular intervals leading Miko to believe this may in some way be its heart.

About to descend to the final level, he paused when something tugged at the back of his mind. It was the Star, and it was very close. Gazing to the ichor-filled bottom of the pit, he wondered how he would manage to retrieve it without losing his life. The pool of green ichor could very well continue down for a long ways; only one way to know for sure.

Summoning the power of Morcyth, he sent his senses down into the green pool. The liquid turned out to be only a few feet deep, but the Star was not in it. Then his gaze turned toward the protrusion and its luminosity. Sure enough, he sensed the Star within, lying a third of the way up from the bottom of the growth. Furthermore, now that he was concentrating on it, and being so close, he could tell that this thing that filled the pit fed off the Star’s power. To take the Star would in all likelihood kill it, or at the very least seriously hamper its ability to flourish.

How to take it? Now that was a problem. Any incision made to retrieve the Star would assuredly cause copious amounts of green ichor to be expelled. It would be all but impossible to avoid contact, and James’ words as to the lethality of such an eventuality stayed his hand.

The anchor line he stood upon connected to just above the tumor-like growth. Those just below hooked to the section which contained the Star.

Indecision stayed his hand. So he did what he had done the last five years when the road proved unclear; closed his eyes, calmed his mind, and sought Morcyth’s guidance.

“What is he doing down there?”

The glow was now far below. James had watched Miko traverse the layers of anchor lines until all he could see was the movement of Morcyth’s glow. He glanced to the structure rising out of the pit. Where had it come from?

That question had plagued him ever since first encountering it. It was unlike anything he had seen on this world, or Earth for that matter. Was it natural? Left behind after the destruction of Ith-Zirul? Planted here by a malignant entity as yet unknown? No time to waste worrying about the whys and wherefores, he put aside the question for the present.

Every few minutes, another bulge made its way in along the conveyance tubes. Twice since Miko had begun his descent, bulges had emerged from the main body of the structure to travel outward through the large main tubes. One passed from view while the second traveled to a nearby off-shoot and another stalker was expelled. James dropped it as he had the ones before.

The area remained clear of stalkers and any other creature for that matter. Aside from himself and the intermittent bulges, nothing moved. He returned to the pit’s edge.

“Come on,” he mumbled, looking down to the stationary glow. “Haven’t got all day.”

Peace. Absolute peace and contentment was what he felt. Always did when communing with Morcyth. Neither asking nor begging for help, he merely made his mind a void and opened himself up to whatever his god decided to give. Morcyth had yet to let him down.

Images flashed through his mind; bits and pieces of what was and possibly what was yet to be, he could never be entirely certain. Most came and went making little impression. A few, a very few held strength and power unlike any before.

…the Star lying amidst the shattered ruins of Ith-Zirul…

Miko nodded to himself; the aftermath of Ith-Zirul’s destruction. “Yes, I understand.”

…now enveloped by a cocoon…power being drained…being fed upon…

This thing had come and used the power of the Star to grow and spread.

…he and James running across the desert, the Star in hand…

I will get the Star. But how?

…sun rising with the new day…

Is the sun supposed to be the Star? Unclear.

The visions grew in clarity.

…warmth…hope…rebirth…

…families thriving…

…communities at peace…

…hope, love, and a dawn of brotherhood the likes this world had never seen…

…no beggars for all were fed…

…no sickness…no disease…

Miko’s heart sang to see the ills of the world banished. Then the tone of the visions…changed.

…crops withered…famine…

…stillbirths…deformities…madness…

…corpses in the street…in the homes…everywhere…

…Miko wept in the twilight…bodies and rubble surrounded him for as far as he could see…he was alone…

…the ground shook…fissures opened…light erupted from the fissures…blinding light…

The power of the visions began slipping away.

“That cannot be!” he cried.

Before the visions faded completely, he envisioned standing with blade in hand, James at his side. Like in the previous vision, bodies and rubble littered the surrounding area as far as the eye could see, but this time, they were not alone; others had survived.

Struggling to hold onto the visions in the hopes of gleaning further wisdom proved futile. They slipped away leaving only a sense of great foreboding. What did it mean? Often, Morcyth’s visions left him with a sense of purpose, a sense in which direction he was supposed to go. This time there was only confusion.

The part of the visions that remained steadfast in his mind as a true course of action was of him and James running through the desert with the Star. In that, he knew that he would successfully retrieve the Star. Didn’t tell him how to do it however. Miko had known it would be a longshot in any event; communicating with gods was never like a regular conversation. James once commented that the mind of a god could hardly work like the mind of a man, so any actions predicated upon that supposition would assuredly be in error.

First thing first; get the Star. There would be time later for vision pondering. Putting them aside, he got back to the task at hand.

One thing he had learned that would help him now was that the tumor-like growth was not an abnormal extension. Rather, it was the creature itself. Everything else, the structure rising above them and the conveyance tubes were constructs it crafted whereby it could propagate and thrive. Like a plant putting forth limbs and leaves to gather nutrients, this creature put forth conveyance tubes and stalkers.

A few moments contemplation left him with the realization that there would be no way in which to retrieve the Star without coming into contact with the green ichor.

“There’s nothing for it,” he said to himself.

After saying a small prayer for Morcyth to watch over him, he drew his sword and plunged it to the hilt through the outer skin of the creature several inches above where the Star lay.

“Have half a mind to go down there and hurry him along,” James mumbled to himself.

The glowing form of Miko had remained stationary for some time. Twice he had picked up a stone and considered dropping it in the hopes of having it land on Miko, thus knocking him out of whatever reverie might have claimed him. Worry of damaging the radiation suit stayed his hand.

Then another thought occurred to him. What if Miko’s suit had become damaged? Or what if the radiation down below was of such a high concentration that the suit failed to shield him properly? He could be dying or already dead!

James paced back and forth along the edge, alternating glances to the sun growing ever lower in the sky, to the surrounding area for any movement, and to the glow down below. On his fourth pass along the lip, he sent his senses down to the depths. No sooner had he begun than his skin started to tingle and tingle hard. A vast shimmering field had sprung to life in the sky above him. He managed to cancel his spell before it could be altered.

“Damn!” he cried.

The shimmering field quickly dissipated as had the tingling. He couldn’t do anything to help Miko; not without running the risk of making the situation worse. There was only one option remaining. Crouching down, he sat on the edge of the lip and made to descend to the first anchor line.

He set a foot upon it and flashbacked to gym class; they weren’t pleasant memories. About to continue, he felt the anchor line shudder; then detach from the side of the pit. James scrambled back from the edge as the anchor line fell away.

The entire structure rising out of the pit shuddered in powerful convulsions. Cracks formed and green ichor oozed forth; in a couple places it jetted out in lengthy streams.

A quick glance below showed that Miko was on the move. Not only that, but the glow had increased tenfold. James grinned, He’s got the Star.

Shudders rocked the structure time and again. More and more fissures cracked opened, spilling forth more of the green radioactive ichor. One crack opened directly before him and only a quick dive to the right saved him from being doused by a large stream.

Coming to his feet, he noticed tremors coursing throughout the system of conveyance tubes. A two-foot crack ruptured in one nearby. James danced back to avoid the growing pool of green ichor. Another nearly split apart from a violent series of spasms; green ichor fountained in all directions.

“What did you do?” James asked, glancing toward the pit.

Ichor streamed along the sides of the structure in ever growing amounts. James grew worried for Miko; feared that he would be unable to avoid coming into contact with it. Wending his way around the now numerous puddles of the green stuff, he returned to the edge of the pit.

Miko had worked his way a third of the way back up the pit. Many of the anchor-lines had come loose from the tremors wracking the structure. He watched as his friend swung up to one, grabbed hold then climbed up. As he reached for the next, the anchor line he stood upon gave way and only quick reflexes allowed him to grab hold and avoid falling to the green pool below.

From one anchor line to another, Miko worked his way nearer to the top. James could see how green ichor coated much of Miko’s suit; watched as a fissure opened and rained a deluge upon him. He hoped Morcyth was lending a hand in preventing his high priest from succumbing to the radioactivity.

A tug on his boot drew his attention to several green tendrils that had wrapped themselves around it. Three feet away a tube had completely broken open and the tendrils were snaking everywhere. Several others had likewise completely split apart; each producing dozens of green tendrils snaking this way and that.

He pulled his boot back to break their hold but his efforts proved ineffective. Using his assassin’s spell, he utilized microbursts of magic to form shields and shear the parts gripping him from the rest.

Each burst caused the sky to shimmer and his skin to prickle. But being so quick, the shimmering field had no time in which to alter the spells. Other tendrils moved toward him and he treated them the same.

After the twentieth time, he could feel his grip on the spells begin to falter, even though they were cast and done in less time than it took a heart to beat. Yet still the tendril came on.

At first, their movements seemed random, but as he continued “trimming” them, they grew more focused. It was almost as if they knew he was there. When ten tendrils shot toward him at once, his doubt was gone. They knew he was there and were after him.

Each spell utilized only a microburst of magic. But when a dozen or more were cast nearly simultaneously, their short durations failed to stave off the effects of the shimmering field above.

The whole area swarmed with tendrils. Wherever a conveyance tube had ruptured, they had emerged. Those nearest James drove toward him as if wielded by some intelligence bent on his destruction. No sooner would tendrils be severed via his assassin spell than they would commence to regrow at an astounding rate before seeking him out once again.

His arms tingled nearly constantly now. The shimmering field above had grown more pronounced and each time he cast his spell he had to concentrate just a little bit harder in order to achieve his desired outcome.

“Come on,” he breathed to Miko below.

Three vines shot forward at once.

Snip... tendril severed…

Snip…tendril severed…

Snafu…

First spell cast perfectly. The second felt a little off. The third hemorrhaged magic as its underlying matrix warped. Dust and sections of tendrils exploded into the air as a myriad patchwork of assassin spells sundered the ground in an arcing radius expanding three feet outward from the original point of impact.

Though unexpected and unnerving, the mis-fired spell had for the moment, cleared the area of tendrils. Those beyond the fringe of the devastated area shrank back.

His skin was on fire. The tingling had grown to such an extent that it was painful. James glanced into the pit, saw Miko crouched on an anchor line third row from the top. Watched him leap laterally to an anchor line on the same level. Caught his breath when the anchor line shifted at the wall; breathed a sigh of relief when it held Miko’s weight.

Miko glanced upward, saw his friend watching, and gave a thumb’s up. He then drew his sword and leapt to the anchor line just above his head. Tendrils had grown to nearly completely cover it. As soon as Miko’s left arm hooked it, tendrils reacted.

Several passes of his blade sent green tendrils plummeting to the depths below. Once the anchor line was cleared, he climbed onto it and stood less than eight feet from the lip beneath where James stood.

The anchor line directly beneath James was loose; he could see where, though it looked sturdy, it had in fact detached from the wall. He wasn’t sure if Miko was able to realize that from his vantage point below. He tried to wave Miko off, but his friend leapt for it.

Throwing himself to the ground, James reached into the pit and grasped the anchor line with both hands a split-second before Miko’s weight came full upon it. Sure enough, the impact knocked the anchor line from the wall. James’ shoulders protested vigorously as he strained to keep Miko from falling.

Miko swung a leg over and proceeded to scramble up onto the anchor line.

“Hurry!” James yelled through the mask.

Moving forward along the line, Miko reached James just as the structure above them gave out with a groan…then cracked. Green ichor oozed forth. Another violent spasm split the structure completely asunder.

Miko scrambled over James and out of the pit just as a green deluge engulfed them. Morcyth’s glow flared to painful brilliance.

An army of tendrils ranging from six inches to twice the length of a man infested the green ichor. James let go the anchor line as he felt them constrict along his entire body. Pulling, tearing, they split the fabric of the suit apart as they sought the flesh beneath allowing green ichor to breach its protective barrier. He screamed as searing pain erupted wherever the green ichor touched his skin. It filled his suit, tendrils followed twining around his limbs, his torso. Thrashing, he pulled off his helmet; tore at tendrils cinching tightly around his neck.

Then Miko was there; the Star in hand. Its glow infused him and the pain diminished. Tendrils withered; Miko pulled them from him until none were left. He opened his eyes, saw Miko radiating Morcyth’s glow from head to toe, and found his voice.

“What took you so long?”

“Sorry.” Miko grinned and nodded. “Need a nap? Or should we get out of here?” The only part of his radiation suit still upon him was the leggings.

“The radiation…,” James began.

“Do not worry,” Miko replied and held forth the Star, “Morcyth is taking care of it.”

James discovered that he, too, glowed brightly. In fact, the glow extended outward roughly two feet. Glancing to the right, he saw tendrils approach the fringe of the glow, wither, and shrink back. All vestiges of pain had vanished leaving a feeling of contentment and relaxation. He held out a hand.

“Help me up?”

As Miko took his hand and brought him to his feet, the structure rising out of the pit gave out with a groan and imploded, then collapsed into the pit.

“Is it dead?”

“Unsure,” Miko replied. “Injured severely at the very least.” When James turned back to him, he added, “It was loath to relinquish the Star. I convinced it.”

“Bet it feels good to hold that.”

“Words could never adequately express how it makes me feel.”

Looking around at the ruptured, vine-covered conveyance tubes, James asked, “Will it be able to see us out of the Waste?”

“I believe so. I sense a great reservoir of magic resides within the Star.”

“Coming from a god, it’s probably inexhaustible.”

Miko considered that a moment, then nodded. “I believe you are correct.”

“So you could take over the world.”

“No,” Miko replied. “World domination holds no interest for him and I do not believe that the magic would respond should I try to use it for such a purpose.”

James slapped him on the back. “I’m glad.” Then he glanced to the sky. There was no shimmering even though magic was being utilized.

Miko looked up too. “Like you said, priest magic does not appear to bring about the shimmering field.”

“Any idea why?”

“No, though I am glad for it.”

“Me too. Now, let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Hands on hips, Father Vickor stood outside the old farmhouse and stared into the Waste.

“We can’t wait any longer.”

He glanced to Father Keller who nodded.

“Settle Eddra into her carriage and let’s go.”

With Kip’s help, Father Keller carried the old woman from the farmhouse and placed her gently upon a pallet comprised of blankets and spare clothing within the carriage. Kip produced another blanket and covered her.

Shorty came up to them. “What about Scar and Potbelly?”

“They knew we would wait two days,” Father Vickor replied.

“And they know where we are headed,” Kip added.

Shorty glanced to the horizon in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the pair’s return. “Can’t we wait one more day?”

Father Vickor shook his head. “We must be in Zixtyn before the Reverend Father’s arrival.”

Jiron laid a hand on the knifer’s shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Probably be there ahead of us.”

Shorty nodded though he didn’t share Jiron’s confidence.

Jiron grabbed the saddle and swung up. Jira sat on her horse next to him “Let’s go.”

Three hours later and some distance to the southeast, four horses emerged from the Waste. In the distance lay the road running between Cyzt and Hyrryth. Potbelly brought them to a halt as he surveyed the travelers upon the road.

“I don’t see them.”

He glanced to Scar. Unconscious since the ill-fated attempt to acquire an exotic creature for display in the Pits, ropes lashed him to the saddle and maintained him in a forward slump against several bags stacked in front of him. Shortly after being struck by the poisoned barbs, Scar had lapsed into unconsciousness.

His condition had neither worsened nor improved. Potbelly worried for his friend but knew that the affliction assailing him could be cured. Jira had been struck by the same poisoned darts and with Brother Willim’s aid, she had been okay. He needed to get his friend to Morcyth’s priests as quickly as possible.

The reins of Scar’s horse were secured behind Potbelly’s saddle; the two packhorses were similarly secured in tandem behind Scar.

“North…” he said gazed along the road to the horizon, then glanced the other way. “Or south…” Turning back to Scar, he asked, “What do you think?” Scar was unresponsive. “About what I thought, too.”

He knew they would head south, but the question was whether they had already passed this way, or had yet to. The last thing he wanted to do was travel along the main road. Even though there were few travelers upon it, Scar’s condition would assuredly arouse suspicion. After several moments of weighing his options, he knew he had to take the risk.

Two wagons with five mounted riders made their way from the south. Angling so as to intercept them, he nudged his horse into motion.

A lone rider heading south took notice of his approach, as did a trio pulling a cart on their way north. None gave him more than a passing glance. Once on the road, his fellow travelers made it a point of ignoring him; only the lone rider actually met his gaze.

When the lead wagon drew close, Potbelly came to a halt and raised his hand in greeting.

“A good day to you.”

Two riders came abreast of the wagon as the teamster brought it to a halt, the other three took up position along the second wagon. One of the riders, a young man in his late twenties with a bearing of authority continued forward. He raised his hand in similar salutation.

“And to you, sir.” The man’s gaze turned and rested upon Scar a moment before returning to Potbelly. “Trouble?”

Potbelly nodded. “We ran into a creature from the Waste. My friend was affected.”

“Yes,” the young man replied. “I have heard of similar incidents. Barbs, I believe.”

“Two days ago.”

“A priest can remedy that.”

“So I understand. But that is not why I stopped you. We were separated from our friends and hoped you might have passed them recently. There are several men, a young girl and an old woman in a carriage.”

The man thought a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen any group fitting that description. Been on the road since before sunup.”

Sighing, Potbelly said, “I thank you. They may still be to the north. If on your travels northward you should encounter them, I would appreciate it if you could let them know that the two they are missing are on the road ahead of them.”

“I will do that.”

“How far to the next inn?”

“If you set a good pace, you should be there by sunset.”

“I thank you. Good travels.”

“Good travels to you as well.”

Nudging his horse into motion, Potbelly soon left the wagons and riders behind.

The power of Morcyth glowed brightly as they made their way southward through the desert. It had been hours since leaving the ruins of Ith-Zirul behind. Ruptured conveyance tubes made a vein-like patchwork throughout the land.

“It really was quite extensive.”

“Yes,” Miko replied. “It sickens me to believe the pure power of Morcyth had been utilized in such a way.”

James glanced to his arms every now and then, the glow that radiated outward from them fascinated him. There they were, walking through a radioactive wasteland without protective gear, and they were fine. With the Star, Miko was able to continuously heal the damage done by the radiation.

He raised his glowing arm. “How long can you keep this up? We have a couple days until we leave the Waste.”

“Not to worry,” he replied. “Maintaining the healing power is quite easy. However….”

“Yes?”

“I do not think I can maintain it while asleep,” Miko explained. “We need to find a safe haven.”

James scanned a horizon devoid of tell-tale signs indicating a patch of vines. “Great.” Far ahead to the south, the first stalker silhouette appeared. He paused and picked up a couple stones then glanced to the sky. “This could get interesting.”

Nodding, Miko replied, “Possibly.”

Another joined the first, then several more. Off to their right, others began to appear. A glance to the left revealed still more coming into view. Multiplying rapidly, the horizon quickly filled with the creatures.

“They are coming back.”

“Yeah,” James agreed.

“Think it was something I did?”

James glanced to his friend and said, “I would say that was a safe bet.”

Dust rose behind the creatures and it quickly became apparent that they were in a full run straight for them.

“Can you handle them?”

“If the shimmering in the sky doesn’t materialize,” James replied, “it will be easy.”

“Then let us pray that it does not.”

James didn’t hold much faith in that strategy. Instead, he busied himself with finding as many stones as he could before the creatures closed the distance. By the time the ground trembled with their approach, he had an armful.

Taking one in his hand, he turned to Miko. “Keep an eye on the sky.”

“Will do.”

Summoning magic, he threw.

The stone leapt from his hand and slammed into the lead creature. As it stumbled and fell another stone was already on the way.

One after another in rapid fire the stones flew across the desert.

A score of the creatures laid dead and no tingling upon the skin.

“Any sign?”

Miko shook his head. “No. The sky is clear.”

His collection of rocks dwindled rapidly and still the creatures came on. Having concentrated his fire to the south, he had managed to open a hole in their line, but those to the east and west were coming fast.

Crumph!

Dirt and rock exploded upward beneath those to the east.

Crumph!

Those to the west flew in the air as the ground erupted.

His skin tingled painfully as the sky above shimmered briefly then regained normality.

“James…”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I know.”

Four stalkers emerged from the cloud of dust left behind by the explosion to the east. He had ten stones left. Taking one, he braced for the tingling, then threw.

The sky remained calm.

He threw another.

Still the sky failed to react and no tingling afflicted him.

Two more stones downed the last of the creatures to the east.

Motion from the west drew his attention. A dozen stalkers still headed their way.

He contemplated his last six stones. The ground around them held little more than dirt and sand.

“Damn,” he cursed.

Bracing, he concentrated on the ground before the advancing creatures, then let loose the magic. The sky shimmered…

Crumph!...k-Pow!

No sooner had the spell been cast than he felt it being corrupted. Tingling pain wracked his body to the bone as the ground beneath the stalkers erupted. Then a second explosion nearly four times as powerful followed on the heels of the first and tossed massive chunks of earth into the air.

Miko cast a protective shield a heartbeat before the concussion wave rolled over them. He wrapped his arm around his friend to keep him from collapsing. Dirt rained down upon them, the larger pieces broke apart as they hit the shield, some disintegrated completely. When the rain of earth subsided, dirt lay piled to waist height around the base of the shield.

Beyond the shield nothing could be seen; dust choked the air. Miko helped James to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s getting worse,” he sighed. “Anything the Star can do to help?”

“I do not think so.”

James sat there as the dust settled to the ground. When it had cleared sufficiently, they saw the massive crater. Its edge began a mere twenty feet away and spanned nearly fifty feet. Chunks of earth littered the ground in every direction.

“Stalker.”

Looking to where Miko pointed, he saw one of the creatures heading their way. He readied a stone as he got to his feet.

Miko drew his sword. “Better let me take this one.”

James shook his head. “You need to maintain the Star’s healing power. We can’t take the risk.”

“Are you sure?” he asked skeptically.

Sighing, James replied, “Yes.”

Beyond the one Miko had pointed out, another five ranged scattered across the desert. All were heading their way at a quick pace.

The first one skirted the outer rim of the crater on its way toward them.

James laid a hand on Miko’s shoulder for support. His skin felt raw after the last tingling effect and his muscles felt weak. Taking two calming breaths helped and he made ready.

The stalker came round the pit and charged.

He braced for the tingling reaction, cast his spell and threw the stone.

The sky remained clear, the stone flew unerringly from his hand to smash into the front of the stalker.

As the stalker fell, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Miko glanced to him. “No shimmering.”

“Yeah. I noticed that.”

“Why not?”

James shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. But let’s just be happy it didn’t.”

One by one, stones flew across the desert to take out the remaining stalkers. Each time James braced for a repeat of the severe tingling he experienced before only to not feel even the slightest tingling sensation.

Miko dropped the shield once the area was clear. “There are bound to be more out there. We need to find a patch of vines.”

“Doubt if we’ll find one before nightfall.”

James walked to the edge of the crater and gazed down to the bottom. “Wow.”

“If that had been any more powerful we would have been caught in it.”

Nodding, James reached down to pick up a stone. He gazed at it while it rested on his palm.

“What are you thinking?”

“The sky reacted when I caused the ground to erupt.” James held the stone between his thumb and forefinger and held it up, “Yet it did nothing when I threw the stones.”

“I noticed that too,” Miko replied. “Why?”

The stone failed to provide any insight. James shrugged and tossed it back to the ground. “Darned if I know.” He looked southward and saw a few stalker silhouettes far off in the distance. “We better hurry if we want to reach a vine patch before dark.”

As he skirted the crater and headed due south, he considered conducting a test to see if he could figure out the nature of the phenomenon in the sky. Or at the very least, why it reacted when he did one thing but not another. If not for the severity of the effect experienced earlier, he may have done so, but for now, it was best just to put miles behind them and find someplace safe to spend the night.

Travelers had grown sparse the last few hours. He’d overtaken a ten-wagon caravan miles ago and recently passed a lone rider headed north. Now, he had the road to himself. The sun hung low in the sky and Potbelly figured he had less than an hour to the inn.

Scar had showed no improvement when he stopped earlier to dribble water into his friend’s mouth. Food was out of the question, but if he kept Scar’s mouth moist, at least it should stave off the worst effects of dehydration.

He looked eastward across the desert and saw the rider. For the last hour the rider had appeared at regular intervals; always paralleling the road, and always just a little bit behind. When the rider had first appeared, another had been with him. The second rider hadn’t been seen for some time.

Potbelly figured them for bandits, most likely the other rider had gone for the rest of their men or to set up an ambush. He hoped he was wrong, but doubted it. Why else would the two riders separate and the remaining rider pace them just out of visual range? Bandits were the only conclusion that made sense.

Under normal circumstances he would relish the diversion a fight. But with Scar comatose, the wisest course of action might be to avoid combat. So he kept an eye out both on the road ahead and toward the rider in the distance. When a half hour later more riders appeared on the road ahead and the one pacing him altered course to intersect the road, he knew trouble was on the way.

He reached into a small pouch attached to his saddle and produced three small tubes. From another he pulled forth a vial and a small wooden box. Working quickly, he slid open the box and took out three of the small darts. Then popping open the vial, he dipped each in turn into the liquid contained within. Once suitably coated, he slipped each into one of the three tubes. The tubes he slid into the trio of sheaths sewn into his right sleeve. Then he returned the vial and box to their pouch.

By the time the tubes were in place, the rider in the desert had broken into a gallop and had gained the road some fifty feet behind him. Those riders ahead continued at a measured pace.

Next he produced a white handkerchief. Then with a slice of his knife, opened a shallow, two-inch incision along the back of his right hand. As the blood welled forth, Potbelly took the handkerchief and dabbed the blood, ensuring to stain several sections of the white cloth. Next, he applied some of the blood to the corners of his mouth.

The riders had drawn close by the time he wrapped the cloth around his right hand. He held the cloth to his mouth and coughed.

Five men rode toward him with another coming up on his backside. Two of the five held crossbows; they held back a bit while the other three rode forward. The rider at the fore was young, couldn’t have seen more than twenty-five summers. Despite his age, he seemed to be the leader of the group. He rode forward and held up his hand.

Potbelly came to a halt as the two crossbows rose to level their bolts at him. He coughed again as the leader spoke in the Empire’s tongue. At the end of his speech, Potbelly coughed for an extended time into his handkerchief.

The leader gazed at him a moment, then took in Scar, the horses and the numerous bags they had. It was clear what he had in mind.

“Don’t come any closer,” Potbelly said, “we have been cursed.”

Two of the leader’s men’s faces turned pale at that; the leader merely frowned.

Potbelly coughed again and with the handkerchief shielding what he did, pulled one of the tubes from out of his sleeve and cupped it in his palm.

“Cursed?” the leader asked.

Potbelly nodded. “A creature from the Waste attacked our company three nights ago. Wiped out all but me and my friend.”

Beneath the handkerchief, he held the tube between his thumb and two fingers. Coughing again, he brought the handkerchief to his mouth as if to deal with blood produced by his cough. While in fact, he brought the end of the tube to his mouth, aimed it at one crossbowman and blew. A second later, the crossbowman brushed at his neck as if swatting at a bug.

The leader eyed Scar. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. It came upon him night before last.”

Slipping the spent tube back into its sheath, Potbelly pulled forth another. He could see the riders behind the leader looking uneasy at the motionless Scar and at the blood-soaked handkerchief he wielded.

“And yourself?”

Coughing, Potbelly held the handkerchief before his mouth as he readied the second tube. “This morning when I awoke, I could feel something eating away at my innards.” He held forth the blood-soaked handkerchief. “Then not an hour ago, this.”

Feigning another coughing spell, he aimed and blew toward the second crossbowman. Like the first, this one too brushed away the poisoned dart as if it were a biting insect. He flicked his gaze to the first and saw how the crossbow was no longer held at the ready. Rather, it drooped a bit as had the man’s eyes.

Potbelly turned his gaze to the leader. “We need a healer,” he said with some urgency. “If we don’t reach a temple soon, I fear we will not last much longer.” Snaking the second tube back into its sheath, he pulled forth the third.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the rider that had come up behind him edge around to his right. Coughing again, he brought the tube up to his lips and blew. The rider swatted the dart away. Wiping away the “blood,” Potbelly turned to the leader.

“Can you help us?”

For a moment, silence hung between them, then it was shattered by the clatter of a crossbow hitting the ground. All eyes turned to the first crossbowman who lay slumped forward in his saddle. Then he tilted to the side and fell from his horse.

Cries went up from the leader’s men. He barked an order and though they settled down, there was a marked increase in the distance between Potbelly and themselves. The leader turned to the rider on his right, spoke in the Empire’s tongue and pointed to the fallen crossbowman. The rider shook his head and backed his horse a few paces further away from his fallen comrade.

“Cursed!” Potbelly wailed. Waving the bloody handkerchief and coughing hard, he nudged his horse forward. “Help us!”

When the second crossbowman finally succumbed to the poisonous dart and fell from his saddle, the rider that had backed his horse away, cried out, turned and fled. The leader shouted but the rider paid no heed.

The last rider, fear wild in his eyes, pointed to the third man Potbelly had hit with a dart.

Sitting motionless in the saddle, the poisoned rider’s eyes were half-closed. His horse took a nervous step and the rider’s head lolled backward before he toppled to the ground.

That was enough for the leader’s final man. Turning, he fled.

The leader shouted at his man as the rider raced off, but to no avail. He returned his gaze to Potbelly who grinned.

Stuffing his handkerchief into his pocket, he reached behind his saddle and untied the rope leading Scar’s horse; then rested his hand on his sword hilt.

“Superstitious lot,” Potbelly chuckled, “aren’t they?”

Rage filled his face as the leader drew his sword.

Potbelly’s knife and long sword were in his hand a split-second later.

Giving out with an inarticulate cry, the leader dug his heels into his horse’s sides and bolted forward.

Potbelly laughed and did the same.

As the leader hacked downward with his sword, Potbelly leaned to the side allowing the blade to slice through empty air. Pulling back on the reins, Potbelly brought his horse to a halt and turned.

The leader did the same.

Moving forward at a more measured pace, the two combatants eyed each other. The leader was again the one to attack first.

Potbelly knocked the blade aside with his knife then followed through with his long sword, opening a shallow wound along the leader’s side.

Bringing his sword back, the leader aimed for a headshot only to have his blade caught between the cross guard and blade of Potbelly’s knife. Before he could remove it, Potbelly’s long sword struck his weapon near the hilt and knocked the blade from his hand. A moment later he felt the point of the long sword pressed against his sternum.

“If I thought I’d be shed of you,” Potbelly said, “I’d let you live.”

Thrusting hard, the blade parted flesh and slid between two ribs on its way to the heart. As the leader fell backward, he added, “But I don’t think I would.”

Thrashing, the bandit hit the ground and after a few seconds grew still.

Potbelly glanced up and down the road to see if any travelers were in the area. Not seeing any, he dismounted and went to ensure that the leader was in fact dead. Vacant eyes, lack of motion and goodly sized pool of blood said it all. He then went to the three men struck by the darts and made sure they would not trouble the world again.

Pausing by Scar, he looked to his friend. “Glad we spent all those hours practicing with the tubes. Never imagined we’d ever actually use them on anyone beside mages.”

Scar gazed forward without giving any indication he heard.

“Give me a moment to gather their horses and crossbows and we’ll be on the way.”

Ten minutes later there were four more horses secured in line behind theirs, minus their saddles. One was burdened with several blanket-wrapped bundles, containing items taken from the deceased; including the two crossbows and the bandits’ store of bolts.

He left the bodies where they lay, mounted his horse and continued toward the inn.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The night was thick when four riders entered the small cluster of buildings bordering the eastern side of the road. In the dim light they made out little more than an inn, a stable and a few outlying shadows. Two caravans camped on the other side of the road, their campfires illuminated more than three dozen wagons between them and a score of men.

“Think they stopped here?”

The lead rider turned to the other. “Possibly. The caravan master did say he directed them here.”

“Father Vickor?”

“Just Vickor, Kip,” the priest admonished quietly. “We must remain discreet.”

“Yes, sir.”

After a moment, the priest asked, “What is it?”

“What do we do if they aren’t here?”

Tinok turned to the young priest, “Find them of course.”

Kip saw Father Vickor nod agreement in the dim light cast by the inn.

“If the caravan master was correct, then one of them is in a bad way.”

“My money’s on Scar,” Shorty said. “From the description given, it has to be him.”

From the lead, Tinok said, “I agree.”

Several men loitered about the entrance to the inn. As Tinok led them to the hitching post, he rested his hand on one of his two knives. He was slightly disappointed when the men failed to prove hostile and he and the others managed to reach the inn without incident.

“Wait here,” he said as he dismounted. “I’ll see if they’re here.” Heading for the door, he heard Shorty whisper, “Don’t kill anyone.” Only if I have too, he replied silently.

Once through the door and into the inn’s foyer, he paused to scan those in the common room. A rather rowdy bunch with most tables occupied. From a small raised platform near the back, a bard plucked a merry tune on a lute. Two serving girls moved throughout.

Two long tables near the middle were occupied by Lord Cytok’s men; he recognized their insignia. Now touting himself as the Emperor, Lord Cytok’s men retained the same uniform as they had before the fracturing of the Empire.

His scan of the common room failed to uncover their two friends. Leaving the foyer, he made for the crowded bar and the hard-looking man behind it. Teamsters and other travelers stood before it laughing, drinking and in some cases swearing. He had to nudge one burly man aside in order to reach it. The man gave him an annoyed look, then returned his attention to the young woman on his other side.

“Yeah?”

Turning to the barkeep, Tinok said, “Looking for two friends of mine that may have come this way. One was sick, possibly paralyzed. Have you seen them?”

The barkeep eyed him a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say that I have. You gonna have something?”

Tinok laid a couple coppers on the counter. “Ale.”

Taking the coins, the barkeep placed a frothy mug before him. “Might know something about it if you’re interested…?”

Tinok produced a silver and held it up. “If your information is worthwhile.”

“Fair enough.” The barkeep leaned close and spoke in a whisper. “You may want to talk to Farhan. He came in a little after dusk talking about curses, death and blood.”

“What does this have to do with my friends?”

Lowering his voice even further, the barkeep said, “He claimed that he and several others encountered two travelers on the road leading a string of horses. One was either dead or close to it, the other was spitting blood and saying he was cursed. Farhan claimed that before he fled the curse struck down at least three of his comrades.”

“At least?”

“There were two others. One supposedly escaped with him but where he is, is anyone’s guess.”

“And the other?”

The bartender shrugged. “He doesn’t know. An hour ago some men went to check out his story. He refused to go.” Eyeing Tinok thoughtfully, he asked, “Were they your friends?”

Shaking his head and chuckling, Tinok replied, “Doesn’t sound like it.” He laid the coin on the bar, “Good story though.”

He sipped his ale while gazing about the common room, his gaze lingered upon the soldiers. None looked familiar from his time in the Empire, but many more knew him than he, them. Finishing it, he set the mug on the bar then left the inn.

Father Vickor stood near the others who remained mounted.

“Are they in there?” he asked.

Tinok shook his head. “No.” He eyed the men standing nearby and stepped closer to Father Vickor. In a quiet voice he related the barkeep’s story.

“So that’s what happened to those bodies we found.”

“Yeah. We should get out of here before those men return. Also, there are soldiers inside. I don’t think any recognized me.” He paused a moment. “Do you think Potbelly could really be cursed?”

“I don’t know. But if he is, we need to find him as soon as possible.”

Tinok nodded. “Agreed.”

Swinging up into the saddle, Father Vickor asked, “Where could they be?”

“If Potbelly did kill those men...,” mounting, he turned his horse to where the road continued southward, “he’d have avoided this place as if it was a strumpet with the pox. My guess is we’ll find them somewhere farther down the road, in a location where he can keep an eye out for when we pass by yet not be too noticeable by others.”

“Can we find them?”

“We can but try.” Tinok kicked his horse into motion and they left the inn behind.

“I think it is time we try.”

James glanced to Miko and sighed. “It has been a while; we might have a few seconds before the shimmering appears.”

Now well past sundown, they continued making their way through the Waste. In the dark it was hard to tell if they were keeping to a more or less southerly direction. James was sure there was a way to tell by using the stars. Back home he’d have used the North Star, his dad had showed him how on a camping trip before the accident. But on this world? He gazed up at the blanket of lights he had grown familiar with over the last six years. If there was a North Star up there, he had no idea where it would be or what it would look like.

Earlier, Miko had suggested that James cast one of his searching spells to locate a suitable patch of vines in which they could spend the night. James had been leery of making the attempt, he hadn’t wanted the shimmering field to reappear and wreak havoc as it had previously. But now that more time had passed, it might be feasible. Besides, he couldn’t help but think that with Miko having to maintain the healing power of Morcyth to ward off the radiation, they blazed like a beacon. May as well ring the dinner bell for all nocturnal predators. Come and get it!

“If you see anything, let me know.”

Miko nodded and turned his attention upward.

James gathered magic while visualizing a withered center ringed by a large patch of vines. Along with the visualization, he added the impetus to find one close. Then upon the palm of his hand he formed a luminescent orb.

“Find it.”

With that, he released the magic and the orb shot from his palm. Immediately he felt the tingling sensation.

“How close is it?”

Miko searched the sky until spotting the leading edge of the shimmering field. “Mile away I think.”

James held onto the magic as the orb hovered in the air a moment before it headed out into the night. He let it travel for a few seconds only, just long enough to know in which direction to go. Even in that short a time, he felt the effects of the shimmering field, seeking to undo the magic and rent it asunder. When he let the magic go, the orb faded and the tingling sensation subsided.

Miko cast him a questioning glance.

“Not sure how far it is,” he replied.

“At least we now know which way to go.”

James nodded. “Indeed.”

They set off along the path taken by the orb. He hoped the patch of vines would not be too far away. While they walked, James pondered the enigma of the shimmering field. What was it? Who was behind it? And most importantly, why did it affect his magic and not Miko’s? He had a deep foreboding that knowing the answers to those questions may very well prove vital in the coming days.

An hour and over a dozen dead stalkers later, they still walked the desert in search of the vines. They paused once more so he could send out another seeking orb. As before, the shimmering appeared some distance away and quickly made its way toward them. James maintained the spell just long enough to know they continued in the correct direction. This time he could also tell the vine patch was not too far away. Then just before the spell subsided, the orb’s light illuminated a stalker herd heading their way.

“Did you see that?” Miko asked.

“Yeah,” James replied. “Looked like a lot.”

His pockets contained a good supply of stones scavenged from along their route. He grabbed a handful in his left hand and readied one in his right. “The vine patch isn’t too far away,” he said. “But they stand in our way.”

Miko drew his sword. “Then let us dispatch them.”

“First we need to see them.”

Magic flowed and starbursts began exploding in mid-air above where they had seen the stalkers. He used as little magic as possible and kept each very short. One would explode revealing the approaching creatures. Two stones would sail through the air on their deadly missions. As soon as the second stone was thrown, the night would again be dark and he’d cast the spell for another starburst.

His arms tingled in greater intensity as each starburst came and went. Maintaining the integrity of the spells grew difficult after the third, but he kept on.

The herd was large and moved their way fast. Five starbursts flared and died leaving ten stalkers dead before the first reached the area illuminated by Morcyth’s glow. After that, stones dropped them with deadly precision and speed. As before, the tingling was curiously absent when he just threw stones.

One after another the stalkers appeared only to be felled by James’ deadly projectiles. Once several stalkers appeared out of the darkness simultaneously; stones flew but he could not down them in time.

Miko’s sword danced as they approached and the few who breached James’ defense fell to hacks, slashes and thrusts. The battle was soon over as the last stalker fell to Miko’s blade.

“I would think that by tomorrow night,” Miko began, “we will be near the fringe of the Waste and these creatures will no longer be a problem.”

James nodded. “And be out of the radiation, too.”

“As much as using the power of Morcyth comforts me, maintaining it for such an extended period does grow tiresome.”

“I bet.” As they left the dead stalkers behind, he added, “The vines aren’t too far away. You can drop it once we are safely inside.” Less than ten minutes later, the outer fringe of vines appeared from out of the darkness.

It was a large patch. The outer ring of healthy vines was at least sixty feet across and the withered, middle section stretched farther than Morcyth’s glow could illuminate. Once they were within the safe area, Miko released the power and the world grew dark.

“Shall I take the first watch?”

James glanced to Miko’s faint silhouette in the starlight. “No. I will.”

“Thank you,” came the wearied response.

“Just get some rest. We got a long day tomorrow.”

As James laid back with head on his pack, his thoughts drifted to his beloved Meliana and son Kenny. It wouldn’t be soon enough when they would again be together. In short order, Miko’s soft snores wafted upon the gentle evening breeze.

The road wound through rugged hills. Storm clouds on the horizon promised misery to any foolish enough not to seek shelter. And at his side walked a young girl.

Who she was remained a mystery. Though they had traveled a great distance together, he still didn’t even know her name. He had long since tried to ferret information from her, her responses being little more than a nod or shake of the head. Could she speak? He hadn’t a clue as she had not uttered a single word.

His steps were quick as a sense of urgency propelled him forward. They had to reach their destination before the storm came full upon them. He eyed the gathering clouds, their darkness broken by flashes of lightning and quickened his step yet again.

The hills through which the road ran came to an end at an open, grass-covered plain. There the road split. Veering to the right, the main road continued smooth and straight and just at the horizon rose a city’s skyline.

To the left wound a trail that was little more than ruts and potholes. Rocks and debris littered the trail making any attempt to travel upon it difficult at best. At the end sat a broken-down stone hovel. Little more than one wall remained intact and if there had been a roof it had long since rotted away.

Miko turned to the road leading to the city. “If we take this, we can reach it before the storm hits.”

The girl merely looked at him, not giving any indication of her thoughts.

“Let us go.” Taking her by the hand he led her toward the town.

The rumble of thunder rolled over the plains as they rushed for the city. Winds whipped them with ever greater intensity. He held onto her hand all the tighter; bent low so as not to be blown over, they fought their way forward.

The first drops of rain fell and they were still a ways from the gate. Lightning came in ever greater flashes. Not only ripping through the clouds, but striking the ground; each seeming closer than the one before.

Guards at the gate waved them forward. “Come,” they said, “you will be safe within our walls.”

Miko hurried and as the heavens let loose with a torrential downpour, they passed through and entered the city.

The warmth of a summer’s sun prompted him to look up. Miko gazed on a sky so blue it nearly hurt to look at it. Wisps of fluffy white clouds drifted by on a lazy breeze. Turning about, he saw the sheets of rain and flashes of lightning on the other side of the gate. Out there, the cloud cover thickened and the world darkened. Yet inside the city, sunshine.

They were in a market plaza just inside the gate. Those people nearby seemed completely oblivious to the storm raging just outside their walls. The guard that had so frantically hailed them and ushered them inside now stood calm and relaxed by the door to the gatehouse.

About to question the guard, he caught an appetizing aroma that caused his empty stomach to growl. One side of the plaza was filled with tables overflowing with food. Meats, cheeses, breads and fruits and vegetables of every kind beckoned. His stomach growled again. Forgetting the storm, he crossed over to the food.

He took a roll and slathered it with honey-berry preserves. Never had he eaten anything so wonderful. Stuffing it into his mouth, he reached for a second. “This is good,” he said as he turned to hand the roll to the girl. “Here….” But she was not there.

A quick scan of the plaza failed to reveal her.

“Where are you?” he shouted.

Moving into the crowd, he crossed from one side of the plaza to the other. Grabbing hold of a young man by the arm he asked, “There was a girl with me. Have you seen her?” He held up his hand, “She’s about so high…”

“It’s okay,” the man assured him with a smile. “I’m sure she just wandered off.”

“You do not understand,” Miko insisted, “she is my responsibility.”

“It’s safe here.”

Frantic, he left the man and raced through the plaza. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her entering a doorway leading into a two-story home. “Wait!”

Knocking a gentleman aside, he shot for the doorway. As he neared, a woman emerged.

“Good day to you,” she greeted with a friendly smile.

“Where did she go?”

“Who?” she asked.

“The girl that just entered.”

“No one has come to visit me for some time,” the woman replied. “I’m afraid you are mistaken.

“But I just saw her!”

About to thrust her aside and enter, he felt a tug upon his shirt. Glancing back, he saw the girl.

“Where were you?”

She remained quiet, merely looking up at him as she had done since they had met. No words, no effort to communicate.

Wrapping her in a hug, he said, “I was so worried.”

“This is a very safe place,” the woman said. She laid a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. “No evil will enter here.”

Worry and fear melted away.

“Why don’t you take part in our celebration,” she said. “There is plenty of food and drink.”

“Yes,” he said, “we shall do that.”

Peace settled over him like a warm blanket on a cold day. Taking the girl’s hand, they went to see what delicacies may be available. To his delight, an entire table lay covered in the largest variety of tarts he had ever seen.

“Oh my,” he breathed. Taking one with a red berry filling, he bit into it and savored the flavor as it burst in his mouth. “Mmmmm, that is so good.”

Reaching for another, he glanced about the plaza. James would like this place, he thought. The cobblestones were clean and free of garbage. People were clean as if freshly bathed and the background fetid odor endemic to cities, such as Bearn had boasted, was pleasantly absent.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but something was off about this place. Taking the girl by the hand, he said, “Come.”

They perused a few stalls as they made for the main thoroughfare leading from the plaza. Those they passed smiled and often as not offered a friendly greeting.

Then it hit him. Where were the yells? The arguments? In all the years spent growing up on the streets of Bearn, never had such a length of time as they spent in this place gone by without hearing a voice raised in contention.

Also, he had yet to see a beggar. Not one.

Nothing was amiss. It was as if the world’s troubles had never established a foothold. His uneasiness grew.

Still the sun shone overhead, the sky remained a brilliant blue yet his sense of uneasiness would not go away. He turned about and headed back to the plaza. Once there, hurried through the crowd and made his way to the gate.

Even before he drew close, could see the storm still raged outside. The rain pelted the ground with wind-whipped fury. Flashes of lightning came one after another though not a single crash of thunder could be heard. Entire bushes that had been uprooted rolled or sailed through the air by fearful gusts. The guard remained at his post, relaxed and unbothered by the unbridled chaos raging just a few feet away.

He nodded as they drew close.

“What is this…,” Miko began but stopped when there came a loud cracking noise.

A fissure appeared in the wall next to the gate. It widened rapidly.

Miko froze. Pointing, he hollered to the guard, “The wall!”

“Yes,” the guard replied. “A mighty wall it is, too.”

As the fissure widened, the roar of the storm raging on the other side at last could be heard.

“No, you fool!” Miko shouted.

A whole section of the wall beside the gate fell away and wind-whipped rain pelted Miko and the girl. The guard remained oblivious, merely continued leaning against the guardhouse without an apparent care.

Backing away, Miko dragged the girl with him. More fissures appeared in the wall. With a thunderous crack, the guardhouse shattered. It and the guard were sucked into the raging maelstrom.

Wind swept through the opening. Miko nearly lost his footing by the terrible blast. Maintaining his grip on the girl’s hand, he spun about and together they raced into the plaza.

“Flee!” he shouted.

Other than a glance or two in his direction, the townsfolk continued going about their business.

“The storm is coming!”

Above, blue sky still held sway. In the sky where the gate and guardhouse had succumbed to the storm, clouds now held a blood-red hue.

“Come on,” Miko said as he raced through the plaza.

A massive section of wall bordering the plaza gave way and was sucked into the maelstrom. Five people stood nearby; the wind pulled three away, the remaining two continued in their conversation, oblivious to what was happening. Then they, too, were gone.

“We must find someplace to shelter.”

As more walls gave way, Miko raced from the plaza and headed toward the center of town. “Take shelter!” he shouted to those they passed. Other than a curious glance, they paid him little heed.

Catastrophic gales slammed into the outlying buildings. Smashed, broken they were sucked into the oncoming storm. People continued about their business as the storm pressed deeper into town. Those walking along the outermost streets noticed not at all the winds tearing apart their city. Even when they were snatched up and sucked into the maelstrom, they cried not at all. Merely continued acting as if nothing were amiss.

The area of clear blue sky above lay besieged by the storm; as buildings were consumed, the beautiful expanse diminished. Dark clouds pushed forward and the storm only increased its destruction.

Rounding a corner, Miko came to an abrupt halt. The thoroughfare was packed with cheering, happy people. A parade of sorts marched along with a hundred pipers and drummers filling the air with a merry tune. The people cheered.

Miko stood with mouth agape. A glance back the way he had come showed little more than a block of buildings remained and the storm claimed more with every passing second. Yet these people seemed completely unaware of their impending doom.

He wanted to scream at them, but there was no time. He had to find shelter…but where? One way looked about as good as another. The throng of people was less dense to the left, he headed that way.

Threading his way through the crowd, he kept a tight grip on the little girl’s hand. The people cheered the coming parade. He worked his way through the crowd and finally broke free. Behind him, the music faltered then vanished. The storm had broken through to the gathered crowd. People were snatched off their feet. Pipers played as they were carried away; drummers continued their merry beat even as they vanished into the dark tumultuousness that was the storm.

Miko ran. He raced down one street then another until finally, rising above the buildings, the far side of the wall ringing the city came into view. His pace faltered as his hopes sank. Then a group of soldiers passed by heading toward the distant wall. Thinking this may prove their salvation, he hurriedly followed.

Citizens cheered as the soldiers passed.

They made their way inexorably toward the far wall. Passing down the main thoroughfare, they reached a junction where the crowd was especially congested. Miko had to practically shove townsfolk bodily out of the way in order to continue. As the people sang a merry tune and cheered their soldiers, the soldiers turned onto the left-hand street.

“Stay with me!” he hollered to the little girl. Her hand rested securely in his as he pushed his way through. Then, finally, they reached the end of the crowd.

A vast plaza opened up, reaching all the way to the far wall. Ranks of soldiers, ten deep, stood in smart formation facing a dilapidated structure that stood out from the outer wall. There was but one doorway, barely wide enough to allow a single man to pass. Rising three stories, it held windows only on the uppermost floor; dark shadows could be seen moving within.

Miko had an unobstructed view of the building as a gap ran amidst the ranks of soldiers straight to the doorway.

The town behind them was quickly being swallowed by the storm. Glancing over his shoulder, Miko gauged that little time remained before it reached the plaza wherein stood the soldiers. Turning back, he saw the girl racing along the open space toward the building.

He stood frozen for only a moment, unsure just how she had slipped her hand from his. But then a cry rang out from an officer. Pointing to the girl, the officer shouted, “Take her!”

Miko sprang into action as the uniformed rows disintegrated; every soldier drew his sword and rushed toward the girl. His sword was in his hand.

The gap around the girl closed rapidly. Hundreds of men converged on her. Miko laid about with his sword. Soldiers fell as he cut a swath toward the girl. He heard her cry out, the first sound she had ever made. What she had said he couldn’t make out, but it had been a cry of distress.

Redoubling his effort, he hacked away. Ten soldiers…twenty, the count was horrendous but still he hewed and hacked. Almost to her side, a fetid odor wafting on the breeze nearly made him gag. Then he saw her. Two soldiers had her by the arms and were attempting to drag her back away from the building.

“Leave her be!” he warned.

Blade flashing, he dropped two more nearby soldiers then advanced on those holding her.

“We will keep her safe,” the soldier on her right said.

“She will be happy and safe with us,” added the other.

Miko stepped forward and leveled his sword at the one on the right. “You cannot even save your own city.” Behind him, the sound of buildings being sundered and breaking apart grew loud as the storm drew closer. “Now, let her go.” When the soldier looked to begin arguing, Miko struck.

A thrust through the chest dropped the one on the right, then pulling his blade free, he slashed across the neck of the other, nearly taking the head clean off.

“Come on,” he said as he grabbed the girl’s hand. The only possible refuge from the storm lay in the doorway of the building at the end of the plaza. A mass of soldiers barred their way.

The wind now whipped his clothes. Where the street had entered the plaza was now a whirling mass of darkness. Soldiers, lifted by the winds, were drawn into the chaotic maelstrom.

His blade danced and soldiers fell. Step by step he made his way through their ranks. With but fifty feet remaining, the fetid odor returned. Through a momentary gap in the soldiers, he saw a figure standing before the doorway. Cloaked in black, the figure wielded a curved dagger. Then the press of battle once again obstructed the view.

The ring of soldiers was tight, half a dozen blades attacked and it was all he could do to keep them at bay and the girl safe. When an opening came where he could press the attack, he had to let it go in favor of blocking a thrust or hack aimed at the girl.

Winds whipped fiercely now. Their roar nearly drowned out all other sound. He could feel their tug and feared they would not make it in time.

Then the girl screamed. Miko turned, but not fast enough. A blade shot forward aimed at her chest. He couldn’t bring his sword around in time to save her. Time slowed…the blade came forward and just as it pierced the front of the girl’s shirt, a curved dagger hooked it, knocked it aside. Miko watched as the cloaked figure’s hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck and twisted. The fetid odor was very strong now. For a split-second, their eyes met, the cloaked man and his, then the battle resumed.

Soldiers fell to Miko’s sword and the cloaked man’s dagger. Together they fought for the safety of the girl. Then, they were before the doorway. Such was the fierceness of the maelstrom that it rent the very cobblestones from the ground.

The cloaked man stood within the doorway.

Miko made to enter and the curved dagger rose to block his way. He raised his sword to force his way in, but the girl stood before him and laid her hand upon his blade. She smiled at him and he lowered his blade.

Turning to the cloaked man, she said not a word, merely smiled. The man’s features were obscured by the shadows of the hood, yet it was clear he looked at her intently. His hand raised and rested upon her head. She and he stood still for a moment, their eyes gazing into each other’s, then he released her, and the cloaked man stepped aside.

Taking Miko’s hand, the girl led him into the building.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“He’s hidden, that’s for sure.”

Father Vickor glanced to Tinok and nodded. Two hours on the road since leaving the tavern and not a sign of where Potbelly had holed up for the night.

Tinok brought his horse to a stop and glanced back the way they had come.

“What do you…,” began Shorty before Tinok shushed him to silence. A moment later came the sound of riders fast approaching.

“Shorty…” Tinok said and then motioned toward the side of the road.

“Right.”

Slipping of his horse, Shorty moved to a vantage spot off the road where he wouldn’t be readily observed and readied his knives.

“What are you going to do?”

Tinok turned to Father Vickor, “Depends who it is.”

Moving to the side of the road, they waited for the riders.

Eight men rode hard in the moonlight. They were nearly upon Tinok and the others when they noticed them and came to a stop.

The riders formed a semi-circle around them and one came forward. “Who are you?”

“Could ask you the same question,” Tinok replied.

“None of your smart mouth,” the rider spat. “Now, I asked you a question.”

Tinok pointedly ignored him. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” the man replied, “but we’re looking for a pair of riders.”

“Haven’t seen anyone on the road for hours.” Tinok rested his hand on a knife hilt. “What do you want them for?”

“They’re murderers,” the man spat. “Killed a bunch of our friends earlier this evening.”

“Out for vengeance, are you?”

“Damn straight.”

“They wouldn’t be those cursed fellows we heard about back at the inn, would they?”

“That’s them.”

“Figure just the eight of you can take them?”

“We got more than enough,” the rider laughed.

“You should have brought more.” Drawing his knife, Tinok kicked the sides of his horse and hollered, “Now!”

Bolting forward, Tinok slammed his knife in the man’s chest, pulled it out as his horse drew him past, then charged into the middle of the remaining seven.

Smaller, well-balanced knives flew from the darkness with deadly accuracy. Riders cried out as blades sank into their backs.

Tinok’s knife felled a second rider as the man tried to pull his sword and a third before the rider had a chance to draw back his blade to strike. A fourth cried out as one of Shorty’s knives struck him in the back and Tinok finished him off with a swipe across the throat.

Father Vickor hollered, “Stay back, Kip!” as he rode forward to attack. His mace struck aside the man’s sword then with a back-handed swipe, caved in the side of the man’s head. Before the dead rider hit the ground, the fight was over.

Wiping his blade on a dead man’s shirt, Tinok said, “We’d better get these bodies off the road and hide them.”

“Kip, gather their horses,” Father Vickor said.

“Yes, Father.”

Taking Tinok by the shoulder, the priest turned him round. “Was this really necessary?”

Gazing intently into the priest’s eyes, the knifer replied, “Absolutely. We don’t know how much time Scar has and now we can continue the search without fear of pursuit.”

From where he was gathering his throwing knives, Shorty said, “At least for a while.”

“It will take those back at the inn over a day to figure out they aren’t coming back,” Tinok replied. “By that time we will have found them and be long gone.”

“Do you think we will be able to find them tonight?”

Tinok grinned. “Now that we no longer have to worry about avoiding notice, I have no doubts.”

Potbelly worried for his friend. It had been far too long since Scar had eaten or had anything more than a wetting of his tongue to drink. He glanced down the backside of a slight hill to where he had placed Scar and the horses. “We’ll get you right yet.” Sighing, he turned his attention back toward the road and the pursuit that he was certain would develop at some point. Once the sun came up, he wasn’t sure what to do. Should he risk traveling on the road in the hopes of meeting up with Miko’s priests? Or would keeping to the wild country keep them safe until they put enough distance behind them that pursuit would be unlikely.

Several hours now he’d drifted in and out of sleep as he kept watch. Dreams came and went, some were quite intense while others less so. His latest one was of him and Scar sneaking into some long abandoned castle rumored to be filled with treasure. The fact that evil spirits abounded and would kill them quickly deterred them not a bit.

Real world intermixed with dream as he hovered on the cusp of sleep. At times he and Scar would be searching hidden rooms for magical artifacts only to drift closer to wakefulness and the dream would fade to a whisper as the dark landscape upon which he kept watch would come into greater focus. Then he would once again drift off to sleep and the dream would take over yet again.

He and Scar find treasure…dark landscape…hidden room with a spectral statue…dark landscape…running from the castle with a horde of ghosts hot on their trail…dark landscape…ghost riders thundering from the sky…faint light moving way off in the dark…Scar making a last stand to buy him time…light moved along the road…“Potbelly!” Scar cried as he fell to a spectral blade…as it drew closer, the light manifested into the shape of a man…turning to his friend, he reached out as Scar said his name one last time “Potbelly”… “Potbelly!”

Snapping awake, it took his mind a moment to realize the phantom moving along the road a ways off was not part of his dream. It was a man on horseback.

“Potbelly!” came the cry again from the direction of the phantom.

He broke into a grin when he realized the phantom was Father Vickor surrounded by the glow of Morcyth. Standing, he hollered, “Over here”

The priest turned in his direction as two other riders barely seen in the glow’s radiance galloped toward him.

“Tinok!” he cried when the riders came closer. “And Shorty. Am I glad to see you guys.”

“Where’s Scar?” Shorty asked. “Heard you two got into a little trouble.”

“You might say that.”

When Father Vickor with Kip in tow joined them, Potbelly took them down the other side of the small hill to where Scar laid upon the ground.

“We encountered one of those creatures that took Jira,” he explained. “Scar got hit by its darts.”

Maintaining the glow, Father Vickor dismounted and knelt next to the unmoving Scar. The glow reached out and enveloped the Pit Master.

“I gave him what water he could take,” Potbelly explained. “Which wasn’t much.”

Tinok patted him on the back. “He’ll take care of Scar.”

“He sure will,” agreed Kip. “He’s one of our best healers.” Then he lowered his voice and added, “Though he doesn’t look it.”

“Heard that, Kip.”

The glow surrounding the two men faded and then Father Vickor stood and turned to Potbelly. “The poison has been neutralized, I think.”

“You think?” Potbelly asked. “You don’t know?”

“Not entirely, no,” the priest responded. “It acted in a way with which I am unfamiliar, and I know a lot about such things. But I believe he will make a full recovery.”

“How do you know?”

Father Vickor shrugged. “It feels that he will. The Reverend Father calls it the Priestly Certainty.”

Shorty didn’t appear convinced. “I sure hope you’re right.”

“Will know by morning. He should rouse by then.” He turned to Tinok. “A fire would do him a world of good.”

“Dare we risk it?” asked Shorty.

Tinok nodded. “This is why we took out those searchers. Kip, scavenge fuel for a fire.”

“In the dark?”

Even in the dark Kip withered beneath the glare Tinok gave him.

“Now would be a good time to practice summoning the power,” Father Vickor said.

A few moments of futility later, the young Novice said, “Can you do it?”

Laughing, Father Vickor summoned the power of Morcyth and slapped Kip on the back. “It will come, young Kip.”

Kip wasn’t so sure. All the while he gathered wood, he sought the elusive power of Morcyth, yet it failed to come within reach. What if it never comes to me? What if the Reverend Father is wrong about me? Dejected and feeling useless, he gathered sufficient quantity to see them through the night.

Once the fire blazed forth and pushed back the dark, Kip laid out his bedroll and climbed into it. Tinok took the first watch with Shorty on the second. Potbelly was out before the fire was lit and would be allowed to sleep through the night. The last watch Kip would share with Father Vickor. He knew the Father would work with him to find Morcyth’s power, as well as drill him in the doctrines of the faith. Sometimes he wished he could just take watch with Shorty. He at least could tell jokes.

Sighing, he drifted off to sleep.

With the brightening of the dawn, Scar began to stir just as Father Vickor had predicted. At first he just moved his eyes and slight, uncoordinated movements of his limbs. But as the sun rose above the horizon, he found his voice.

“How long was I out?”

“A couple days,” Potbelly replied. “Do you remember any of it?”

He closed his eyes. “Bits and pieces. Not sure if they were real or a dream.”

Father Vickor summoned the power of Morcyth and checked on his patient. “You’re going to be fine,” he assured Scar. “May be weak for a few days as your body shakes off the remaining effects of the creature’s poison.”

Scar tried to sit up and Potbelly moved to help him. He weakly pushed him aside. “Don’t need no wet nurse.”

“When you can stop me, I’ll believe you.”

Despite his friend’s complaints, Potbelly aided him in sitting up then gave him his water bottle.

Scar upended it and drained it in one go.

“Easy,” advised Shorty. “You don’t want to go and make yourself sick.” His advice was promptly ignored as Scar asked for a second bottle and drained it by half. Then his stomach growled.

Potbelly laughed. “You’ll be your old grumpy self in no time.” He handed Scar several slices of jerked beef.

Tearing off a sizeable section, Scar commenced to chew as he asked, “Where is everyone else?”

“About half a day behind,” Father Vickor explained. “Once we learned that you had been stricken by a creature from the Waste, the Reverend Father sent us ahead to provide what aid we could.”

From the vantage point atop the slight hill where Potbelly held vigil the night before, they had a good view of the road where it ran off in the distance. One lone rider was all they saw.

“I figure they’ll be along before noon,” Tinok said.

“Provided they don’t run into trouble,” added Shorty.

“They won’t,” Father Vickor assured them. “Father Keller saw to that.” Then he glanced to Tinok and Shorty, “All the hot heads are already here.”

“Hey!” Shorty exclaimed.

Father Vickor laughed.

Tinok almost cracked a grin…almost.

Shorty went to sit next to Scar and Potbelly. “So, did you two get your creature?”

Scar turned to Potbelly. “Did we?”

Nodding, Potbelly replied, “We did. Almost killed us both, but we got it.”

“Excellent,” Scar said. “Will make a good addition to The Pits.”

“I’ve already got it figured out,” Potbelly began. “Put it in the old Pit, the one Levryn lost his arm in back before the war.”

Scar nodded. “It’s away from the others… I agree. And it would be easy to set up Alexander’s containment rods there too.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I hate to break this up,” Father Vickor said, “But now that you’ve eaten, you should try to get some rest before the others arrive.”

Eyes heavy with fatigue, Scar nodded. “You may be right.”

“Of course I’m right,” the priest insisted. “A couple more hours would do you wonders.” Then he cast Potbelly a look full of meaning.

The Pit Master nodded. “I’ll see to it,” he said quietly.

Father Vickor glanced around. “Now where is Kip?” he asked loudly. “Be a good time to instruct my young Novice in the intricate details of the Morning Blessing Ritual.”

From down by the horses came a groan and the others laughed.

Sleep had been hard to come by. Throughout the night, a steady stream of stalkers had arrived and now there were dozens, maybe even over a hundred milling about just beyond the fringe of the vine patch.

“How many are there?”

Miko chewed on the last piece of jerked beef in his pack as he gazed at the herd. “Hard to tell.”

“No,” James said, shaking his head, “how many are there? You would think with the number we’ve killed in the past few days there wouldn’t be another still alive in the Waste.”

“Maybe these are the last?”

“I certainly hope so.”

Miko drank from his water bottle then put it back in his pack and stood. “At least today we should pass beyond reach of the deadly radiation.”

James nodded. “I think so too. Help me gather stones and I’ll take care of them before we leave.”

“You got it.”

While Miko set about gathering stones of suitable size, James picked up the small pile he had gathered last night. He walked to the edge of the dead, safe section of vines and paused to gaze upon these creatures and ponder how different they were from anything he’d ever seen before. “They really aren’t of this world, are they?”

“I have never heard of their like before.”

Sighing, James readied a stone, arched his arm back, and threw. A small release of power and the stone struck true. Slamming into the creature’s side, it exploded out the other and the creature fell dead. None of the other stalkers paid the death of one of their own any mind. James readied another stone and began to systematically rid the world of these creatures.

As the supply of stones gathered the night before diminished, Miko would arrive with another dozen or so, then head off to scavenge for more.

James much preferred to kill these creatures this way rather than with his assassin spell. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much to kill by slicing and dicing their innards, than with stones and slugs; but it did.

After a score had fallen he could tell he was making headway. The herd was thinning. Five more and he had to start using the stones Miko had gathered.

Take a stone, send it flying, watch a creature fall, then ready another. One after another he sent his bullets of death sailing into the mass of stalkers. Between fifty and sixty, he started to unconsciously scratch at his arms after every throw. At sixty-five, Miko noticed and turned to look at the sky.

Very briefly, the shimmering would appear each time James launched his stones. It would appear for only a brief moment, but after watching five consecutive appearances, knew it was drawing closer. Before James launched another, he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“The shimmering is back.”

“What?” he said as he turned to Miko. “How? I thought the small amount of magic throwing stones used wouldn’t attract it.”

“I think we were wrong.” He pointed to the sky where it had appeared. “Throw another stone and watch.”

Sure enough, when he threw, the shimmering field materialized.

“I don’t understand. All day yesterday we used stones to clear stalkers from our path and nothing. Yet today, after not having used magic for an extended time, there it is.”

“Are you doing it differently somehow?”

James shook his head. “Been doing it the same way since I first came to this world.”

“Something is different,” Miko insisted.

“We’re inside a vine patch,” James suggested. When Miko turned a questioning eye upon him, he shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems that is the only thing different.”

Miko pondered the situation, then summoned Morcyth’s power. Enveloped in the glow, he said, “Not exactly.” The glow extended outward to envelope James. “Try it now.”

Though dubious, James picked a stalker from out of the mass still surrounding the vine patch, cocked his arm back, summoned magic, and threw. Then he turned to Miko. “Well?”

“Nothing,” he replied with a grin. “It did not appear.”

“Let me try it again.”

Still enveloped by the glow of Morcyth, James sent another stone flying to take out a stalker. When again the tingling failed to afflict him and the shimmering didn’t appear, he nodded. “You may be right. Remove the glow and let me try it again without it.”

“Okay.”

Once the glow faded, he took out another stalker. This time, he felt the prickling of the skin and out of the corner of his eye, saw the shimmering appear briefly in the sky to the north.

“It would seem that not only does priestly magic not draw the shimmering affect, but it can shield the workings of a mage so a mage’s magic will not attract it as well.”

James shook his head. “When I did my assassin spell, and when I caused the ground to erupt, it appeared even when I was cloaked in your magic.”

“Try them again and let us see if that is true.”

“Alright.”

Enveloped once more in the glow, James concentrated on a spot where half a dozen stalkers milled about. As he let the magic go, prickling ran up and down his skin and he felt the shimmering field seek to undo his spell. Then the ground erupted and the prickling faded.

“Interesting.”

“Now your other spell.”

James cast him a wearied glance. “I really hate that one.”

“I understand, but we need to know if it, too, produces the shimmering effect or if it is just the one that erupts the ground.”

“Fine.”

Concentrating on a stalker, he manifested his miniature killing shield within the beast’s chest. Instantly, the shimmering field appeared and it was all he could do to maintain the spell’s integrity. It lasted but a few seconds, but it was a constant struggle. The beast fell dead and the shimmering field vanished.

“So, what was it about those two spells that is different than when you cast stones?”

Shaking his head, James said, “I don’t know.”

”Has to be something.”

“I know it does,” he replied. “I just don’t know…” He paused as a thought entered his head.

Miko had seen that look on his friend before. He kept quiet so as to allow James a chance to sufficiently grasp what had just crossed his mind.

After a moment, James held up a stone. “When I cast these, the magic powering the spell begins and ends at my hand. It’s like a bullet and magic is the gunpowder. Once fired, it maintains speed and accuracy on its own. It’s only the initial impetus and targeting that the magic does.”

“And…?” prompted Miko.

“And the magic powering the other two spells does not remain right here with me like the stone throwing spell. Magic travels from me to the ground to erupt it. Magic travels from me to the creature where it creates the miniature killing shield.”

He turned to Miko. “The magic for the stones activates while still within Morcyth’s glow. For the other two, it travels beyond the glow…and that is why the shimmering field appears. Your magic no longer shields it. So, as long as the magic does its thing while remaining within Morcyth’s glow, then the shimmering field should not appear.”

“Shall we test your theory?”

“Absolutely. Glow me,” he said with a grin.

Immediately the familiar white glow of Morcyth enveloped them both.

James held forth his hand and summoned his orb. No prickling and the sky remained quiet. He gave Miko a grin. Then he caused it to float up off his hand and move away from them. No sooner had it reached the outer boundary of Morcyth’s glow than the prickling began and the shimmering returned. He immediately canceled the orb.

“Now we know.”

Miko nodded.

“We can work with this.”

While still shrouded in the glow, he resumed using stones to pick off the remaining stalkers. It took some time but when he finished, not a one remained standing.

“Now, let’s get out of here and high-tail it to Zixtyn.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The sun was well past its apex when a group of riders escorting a carriage bearing an old woman came into view.

“There they are!” Kip hollered as he raced from his perch atop the hill to where the others waited with the horses.

“You sure?” Shorty asked.

He came to a stop. “Yes.”

Tinok climbed to the top and looked to the road.

“It’s them all right.” He turned about and came back down the hill. “Let’s go.”

Potbelly nudged the sleeping Scar with the toe of his boot. “Time to go.”

Groaning, Scar sat up. “Man, how long was I asleep?”

Giving him a hand up, Potbelly replied, “All morning.”

Yawning, he said, “Feels like I just laid down.”

“Effects of the creature’s poison,” Father Vickor said. “I may have nullified the worst of it and repaired the damage it did, but like I said, you are going to be weak for a few days.”

His legs trembled and he leaned upon his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll be all right,” he said, gruffly.

Potbelly grinned. “Of course you will,” he mumbled under his breath. After helping Scar upon his horse and watching for a moment to ensure he would be able to remain in the saddle, Potbelly mounted his own horse and moved close to Scar’s; just in case.

Shorty and Kip took charge of the string of horses taken from those Potbelly killed while pretending to be cursed, and those from the vigilantes Tinok, Shorty, and Father Vickor took care of the day before.

Tinok and Father Vickor rode ahead while the others came at a more measured pace.

Jiron was the first to see them and kicked his horse into a trot and go out to meet them.

“We found them,” Tinok announced.

Standing up in the stirrups, Jiron gazed to those following along behind and counted heads. Seeing all were accounted for, he asked, “How was Scar?”

“Bad,” Father Vickor replied, then saw the concern in Jiron’s eyes. “But he’ll be fine, if weak for a day or two while his body shakes off the residual effects of the poison.”

He saw how Potbelly hovered next to Scar and how Scar leaned a bit in the saddle. “Can he ride?”

“Possibly,” Tinok replied. “Should we put him in the carriage?”

Jiron chuckled at the thought of Scar sharing the carriage with old Eddra. “Only if we tied him up.”

When Scar, Potbelly and the others joined them, Potbelly asked, “Back the road a ways is an inn. Did you have any trouble there?”

“No,” Jiron said, shaking his head. “Should we have?” Then he saw the long line of horses behind Kip and Shorty.

“Tell you later,” Tinok said.

Jiron gazed at his friend thoughtfully a moment, then asked, “Anyone going to come looking for those?”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Good.” As Potbelly arrived with a wearied Scar, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“He’s doing fine,” Scar replied a bit peeved. “If you would all stop treating me like I have one foot in the grave, I’d be doing a lot better.”

Jiron grinned. “Glad to hear it. Are you up to riding to Zixtyn?”

“Of course.”

Potbelly reached over and pulled the shoulder of his shirt to right him in the saddle after he had tilted a bit too far to one side. “You could always ride with Eddra?”

A quickly dodged backhanded blow said how he felt about that idea.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Scar gradually grew stronger and by nightfall everyone could tell he was on the way to a full recovery. Eddra wavered in and out of lucidity when she was conscious at all.

Travel the next day proved rather easy. The lone patrol they encountered was easily dealt with. It’s easy to bluff your way through when you escort an old woman in a carriage. It’s hard to conceive that an invading or spying force would bring such a person along. A simple tale of how they were horse traders from the north and how they were taking Eddra to see her elder sister who lived on the coast while they conducted their business proved very convincing and they were passed through.

James’ two apprentices kept quiet and mainly to themselves. Kip made salutations to them but other than a few short responses didn’t get much response. Everyone else left them alone except Tinok, who always kept one eye on them anticipating foul deeds.

Before nightfall, the walls of Hyrryth came into view. While the main group skirted the city, they sent Tinok, Father Vickor, Azhan and Kip in to resupply their rations. Azhan wore his mage’s robe and they experienced little trouble. After buying sufficient rations, cheese wheels, breads, etc. to burden three horses, they rendezvoused with the others some miles farther down the road.

After that it was a straight shot to Zixtyn. There they hoped to rejoin with James and Miko who Father Vickor insisted have had success and are on their way to meet them.

“How do you know that?” Kip asked the priest during their time at watch.

The one-time brawler turned priest shrugged. “I just do. Once the power comes over you, sometimes you simply know something with utter certainty. This is one of those times.”

Kip nodded slowly. “Is Morcyth speaking to you?”

“Some believe that is exactly what is happening.” He grinned when he saw his Novice assume a look of awe. “It’s not like you hear his voice or anything, it is simply a certainty down deep in your soul that you know something is true. Hard to explain until you’ve experienced it yourself.”

Kip nodded again.

“But that won’t happen until you can summon the glow,” Father Vickor said with grin. “Now, back to it, young Kip.”

Sighing wearily and wishing he could return to his bedroll, Kip tried to calm his mind and sought the connection with their god.

Waking with the dawn, James opened his eyes, sat up and listened to his stomach growl. Their supply of food had run out the day before and they were still in the Waste. At least they had passed out of the radiation zone and the last sighting of a stalker had been over twelve hours ago.

“We need to find food.”

“So I hear,” Miko replied with a chuckle. When James glanced at him, Miko directed his gaze to James’ middle.

“What I wouldn’t give for some of Meliana’s tubers right about now.” he stood up and scanned the barren countryside. “Or a pizza.”

“I figure we are at least a day away from the road,” Miko said.

“Yeah.”

“Try your mirror and see if you can find a farmhouse where we can get some food.”

“In this place? I doubt if anyone lives anywhere near here.”

“Never know. A quick look should keep the shimmering field from wreaking havoc with your magic.”

James opened his pack and pulled out the cloth-wrapped mirror. “Keep an eye out and I’ll see what I can find.”

Miko nodded and turned northward to watch for any shimmering disturbances.

Concentrating on finding a farmhouse or any sort of nearby human abode, he gathered magic to him then when the vision was set in his mind, let the magic go.

His reflection grew indistinct then blurred altogether before an aerial image of their location came into view. Magic pulled the image first one way and then another. Finally it settled over a farmhouse that had seen better days. It looked abandoned.

“It is approaching,” Miko announced. “Better hurry.”

“Right.”

Pushing the image away, James sought another, more promising location. But by the time Miko said, “Almost here,” and the prickling of his skin commenced, he hadn’t found anything better. He canceled the magic and the mirror returned to normal.

“There’s a house that way,” James said, pointing to the southeast, “though I don’t think it will yield any food.”

“We can check. Could be some dried beans or something left behind we can use.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Wrapping the mirror back in its cloth and then returning it to his pack, James slung it over his shoulder and they started toward the farmhouse.

It didn’t take long before it appeared in the distance. Most of the roof was gone and a wall was seriously bowed in.

“Still think we might find something?”

Miko shrugged. “Never know. Worth a look and it is not out of our way.”

A mostly intact corral in the back and a few outlying buildings said the farmer had really tried to make a go of it.

“Wonder what happened to them?”

“Who knows?” James replied. “Hope it wasn’t the stalkers that did them in.”

“Could be.”

The front door was off its hinges and laid upon the ground before the doorway. Stepping over it, they went inside.

A table and three chairs sat in the middle of the room with a kitchen off to one side. An open doorway led to what looked to be the bedroom.

“You check the cupboards,” James said, “and I’ll see what’s in the other room.”

“Alright.”

A bed, a chair and a small bedside table were all that he found. “There’s nothing,” he announced before returning to the kitchen. Sitting in a chair, he watched Miko open the last two cupboards only to find cobwebs and dust.

“I guess you were right,” Miko said. Coming to the table, he sat and sighed.

“Tired?”

Miko nodded. “A little. Would not mind a horse right about now.”

“I know. Days of walking kind of takes it out of you.”

His feet were a bit tired and travel weary. A car with a full tank of gas wouldn’t be bad either. Then his gaze traveled to the front doorway and the door lying on the ground outside. His thoughts flashed back to when he was first on this world and his initial foray into magic. He had made a stick hover in mid-air. Why couldn’t he do it with a door? And if a spell will fire a slug with great velocity, why wouldn’t it also push a door along at a decent pace? Combine the two and you have a speedy mode of transport.

“I got an idea.”

“What?”

“Come with me.”

Getting up, he went outside and with Miko’s help, moved the door away from the house. “I think I can make this fly and carry us.”

“That would be convenient.”

“I know. Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.”

Once the door was placed safely from any potentialobstacles, he sat just forward of the middle. He had Miko sit just back of middle for balance.

“Now, this may take some magic, so I will need you to shield my magic with yours.”

Morcyth’s glow sprang to life, covering not only them but the wooden door as well.

“Ok, now give me a second.”

First, let’s get this puppy off the ground.

Envisioning the door gently rising to three feet from the ground, he let the magic flow. Immediately, the door began to rise. It remained perfectly level. Once it reached the three foot mark, it halted.

“Not bad,” Miko observed.

“That was the easy part.” Looking back over his shoulder, James said, “You better hold on for this next part.”

They both grasped the edges of the door.

“Ready?”

From behind, James heard Miko reply, “Ready.”

“Hold on tight.” Closing his eyes, he pictured the door traveling through the air. Once he had it set in his mind, he let the magic flow.

The door jerked forward suddenly. James lost his grip, panicked as he slid back into Miko and lost his concentration. Slamming into the ground, they hit hard and rolled several feet before coming to a stop.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” James replied, sitting up. Standing, he brushed himself off. “It took off a bit faster than I anticipated.”

“Shall we try it again?”

Nodding, James grinned. “If you aren’t afraid I’m going to kill us with this thing.”

“No, I do not think that.” Then he assumed a wry expression and held up the Star. “Besides, anything you break I can fix.”

“Okay, then. Let’s get back on. Wish we had ropes or something better to hold onto.”

“Maybe next time.”

Getting back into position on the door, Miko called for Morcyth’s glow and James soon had them hovering again in the air.

“This time,” Miko said, “don’t lose your grip.”

James could hear the amusement in his voice. Okay, a little gentler on takeoff. Envisioning a slow, gradual acceleration, he let loose the magic. Instead of the jerky start like before, this time the door moved out slowly.

“Not bad,” Miko said after they had traveled fifty feet.

“I’m going to try for more speed.”

“Just be careful.”

The door quickened its pace and they were soon moving as fast as a galloping horse. It didn’t float smoothly as it tried to maintain the requisite three feet distance from the ground. As the ground changed elevation, even slightly, so too did the door. When crossing a dried creek bed nearly knocked them off, James brought the door to a halt.

Miko slapped him on the back. “That was fun,” he said with a grin.

“It would have been more fun had the ride been smoother.”

“Is that why we stopped?”

James nodded. “Give me a minute to work it out and we’ll have fewer jolts.”

“That last one was pretty bad,” Miko admitted.

“Almost lost my grip more than once.”

Miko stood up and glanced around. “We have come a fair distance.”

“If I can get this right, it’ll take us all the way to Hyrryth.”

“I would love to sleep in a bed tonight.”

James chuckled. “That might be pushing it. But I’ll see what we can do.”

It took the better part of twenty minutes before he was satisfied the spell would work the way he wanted. He merely had to tweak the original spell a little here and there. Once finished, they got back on and with Morcyth’s glow surrounding them, James activated the spell. First rising gently off the ground, the door then took off at a speed little better than walking.

“Feels smoother,” Miko observed.

“I agree.” Seeing that his magic ‘shock absorbers’ were working as planned, James had the door quicken its speed.

Miko tapped him on the shoulder and pointed ahead to where the ground dipped two feet in an old run-off.

“I see it.”

This would really test his flying door. He slowed to the speed of a trotting horse, then braced for the crossing. There was a little shudder and the door did drop marginally while it crossed, then popped back up when it reached the other side; nothing they couldn’t handle.

“This is going to work,” James hollered over his shoulder.

Miko grinned and gave him a thumb’s up.

Altering course proved easy. A thought and the door turned in the direction he desired. Once it was traveling in a mostly southerly direction, he increased the speed yet further.

The wind whipped their hair furiously as they sped across the desert. James fest decidedly homesick as he used to love laying his head against the side of the car as the wind blew through the open window. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back home on the way to the pizza parlor across town. But he dared not allow his concentration to wane. For that to happen at such a speed would prove problematic.

An hour went by, then two and the miles flew by. During the third hour, a small oasis with several trees and bushes came into view ahead. He altered course.

It was deserted and he brought the door to a halt just outside of it. The pool around which the foliage grew was clear and pure. James hopped off the door and knelt at its edge. The water proved somewhat cool and oh so wonderful.

“We should take a break,” Miko suggested. After drinking his fill, he topped off his water bottle and sat against one of the trees. “You don’t want to tire.”

“My thoughts exactly,” agreed James.

Picking a swath of grass near Miko, James stretched out. He thought about how much he had enjoyed the ride, and how Kenny would love it. His thoughts drifted to Meliana and their life together and how he couldn’t wait to see them. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep and Miko was shaking his shoulder to wake him.

“We should get going,” Miko said as James came awake.

“Hmm, what?” he asked sleepily.

“We need to get to Zixtyn and find the others.”

James nodded and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour. You feel asleep pretty fast.”

“Holding a spell for hours does take its toll.”

Miko eyed him. “Do you feel up to continuing?”

“Yes.”

A stretch and drink at the pool later, they climbed back onto the door and James soon had them careening toward Zixtyn.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The road came into view not long before nightfall. James brought the door to a halt as soon as they saw it.

“Looks deserted,” Miko said as he gazed at the road.

James opened his pack and removed his mirror. “I’m going to find out in which direction Zixtyn lies.”

“I’ll watch the sky.”

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, James held the mirror before him. As before the image changed from his reflection to an aerial view of the countryside.

“Any shimmering?”

“Not yet,” Miko replied.

He moved the image southwesterly along the road. Not far down lay an inn with two outlying buildings. Knowing that couldn’t be Zixtyn, he continued his search. Two minutes later, he spied a town sprawling around a crossroads.

“I think I found it,” he said.

“Can you be certain it is Zixtyn?”

James shook his head. “No, but it has to be.”

Miko looked over his shoulder at the image. “How far?”

“Possibly another hour by flying door.”

“A bed would be most welcome tonight.”

“And a bath.”

Miko laughed. “I would expect nothing less.”

Returning his mirror to his pack, he grasped hold of the door, let flow the magic and they were on their way.

He angled so as to keep the road out of sight. For now that it was near nightfall and the light would be fading, the last thing he wanted was for someone seeing them all aglow zooming through the night.

It turned out to be over an hour until the lights of the town came into view. James brought them as close as he dared before bringing the door to earth and disembarking. He shouldered his pack and they headed for the road before it entered the town.

Traffic was light this time of the evening and they gained the road without attracting too much attention. They did draw glances for they were obviously two foreigners and piqued peoples’ curiosity.

The first of the outlying buildings stood three stories and had a sign out front depicting a bed and knife. It looked well-kept and maintained. James’ stomach growled most noticeably when he caught a whiff of the mouth-watering aroma wafting from within.

“I don’t think we have to look any further.”

Miko pointed to the third story rooms overlooking the road. “If we get one of those we can keep an eye on when they arrive.”

“If they aren’t already here.”

“I do not think so,” Miko argued. “Remember, they have Eddra and cannot travel fast; and we did get here rather quickly the last little bit. I think we covered two days of walking.”

James nodded. “Room, food and bath and not necessarily in that order. Then we’ll make inquiries.”

The common room proved to be just as well-maintained as the exterior. It was full yet not overly boisterous. Off to the side a bard was setting up to play. James watched him for a moment hoping it was Perrilin; but it wasn’t.

A large woman in a fine dress came up to them and gave them a smile. “Good evening, sirs,” she said in the northern tongue. “Would you be interested in a room?”

“That,” James agreed, “and a meal and a bath if those could be sent up to us?”

She beamed. “We have a nice room with two beds here on the ground floor that would be perfect for you.”

James shook his head. “If you have one available, we would prefer one on the third floor overlooking the road.”

“Certainly we do. It is three silvers a night…,” she began.

“Three?” James interrupted her.

“Ours is the finest inn in Zixtyn,” she explained. “Meals and baths are another silver each.”

“That’s fine.”

“Excellent.”

Crossing over to the front counter she passed behind and produced a key. “You’ll find it at the top of the stairs, three down on the right.”

James took the key. “And the baths?”

“I’ll send someone up in a few minutes to see to your needs.”

“That will be fine,” James replied. “Thank you.” He handed her the coins and they headed upstairs.

At the third floor, they crossed to the third door on the right, used the key and entered. Two beds, a dresser with wash basin; a table with two chairs filled the small room. James immediately went and sat on the one furthest from the door. He sank into downy softness.

“We are definitely getting our money’s worth here.”

“Must be why they are so crowded.”

“Treat your customers right, and they will always come back. Often with a friend.”

He kicked off his boots and laid back. Miko went to the window and opened the shutter.

“Quite the view,” he said.

James glanced his way but just couldn’t bring himself to leave the bed just yet. It was a far cry better than the ground of the night before.

Not long after, a knock at the door announced the arrival of the serving girl. She took their order for lots of everything as they were starved, and said she would arrange for the boys to bring up two tubs after they had eaten.

“Sounds good,” James said then flipped her a copper.

She caught it and after a very brief inspection, tucked it away in her bodice.

“Thank you, good sirs. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually, yes. If your inn can launder clothes before the morning?”

“That we can.” She quickly scanned the room and saw their lack of baggage. “Would you be needing a change of clothes by chance while yours are being cleaned?”

“Robes or full length tunics would be nice,” James said. “We don’t plan to leave the room.”

“Very good. Then if there isn’t anything else…,” she trailed off then continued when James shook his head no, “I will return shortly with your meal.”

“Appreciate it.”

Once she left, James laid back down on the bed. Miko kept at the window and watched the world grow dark. Off in the distance the appearance of lights spoke of farmhouses. Down on the street below, the last few stragglers made it into town, none of who were the ones for whom they waited.

“Peaceful,” mused Miko.

“Hmmm?” James asked sleepily.

Miko turned from the window toward his friend. “I said it was very peaceful.” But James had already fallen asleep. He returned to looking out on the darkening world and let his mind drifted back over recent events until the serving girl arrived with two others bringing their dinner.

He almost hated doing it, but he woke James.

Dinner comprised of two full loaves of bread, a platter of chicken sufficient for four men, and a second one with an assortment of freshly steamed vegetables. Along with the food the girls brought a pitcher of ale and two mugs. Miko gave them the coins for the meal and they left with promises to return in a bit to collect the dirty dishes and have the tubs brought in.

Miko finished off a third of a loaf and four pieces of chicken before asking, “Do you have any new thoughts on what that shimmering field was?”

Mouth full of vegetables, James shook his head. “I’ve no idea. It just seems strange that it reacts to my magic and not yours.”

“And yet pays no attention when I shield your magic with mine.”

“I know,” James replied. Spearing another portion of chicken, he pulled the crisped skin off and chewed on it. “It’s a mystery alright.”

“Have you noticed that it always seems to first appear from the heart of the Waste?”

“Yes, I have. I suppose it is possible that it is in some way a product of the creature we recovered the Star from.” Swallowing the skin, he bit off a goodly portion of chicken. “But somehow that doesn’t feel right. I mean, if the creature was responsible for the shimmering field, it would assuredly have done more to us than what it did.”

“That makes sense,” Miko agreed. “But if not the creature, then what?”

James shrugged. “Darned if I know. At least we’ve figured out a way to work around it should it appear. And it seems as if the farther from the Waste, the longer it takes for it to appear.”

“Because it forms there.”

“You could be right,” James agreed and turned thoughtful. “Has to be a reason why it does.”

“I am sure you will figure it out.”

James didn’t share his optimism.

They finished the meal trying to come up with a plausible reason for the shimmering field with little luck. Soon the serving girl returned with six young men in tow each trio bearing a bathing tub. She gathered the dirty dishes and all the food they didn’t want to keep for a snack later and left.

Not long afterward, a parade of serving girls and young men brought scalding buckets of water and poured them into the tub. It took a few trips but soon they had them filled. On the last trip, their serving girl returned with towels, two robes and a tray bearing bathing paraphernalia such as soap, brushes, etc.

“You should find these robes quite comfortable,” she said as she laid them on their beds. “We shall return in an hour to collect the tubs and will take your clothes for washing at that time.”

“Are you sure they will be done by dawn? We have business in town and can’t very well transact it in these,” James said, holding up a robe.

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Our laundress will have your clothes washed and dried in a couple hours. I assure you, they will be ready.”

James nodded. “In that case, just bring them up with breakfast.”

“As you wish.” Turning to go, she paused and glanced by coyly. “Anything else I can assist you with?”

Knowing full well what she had in mind, and knowing also that Meliana would not take kindly to such a dalliance, he declined.

Shrugging, she said, “If you change your mind…”

“We’ll be sure to let you know.”

Flashing a smile, she opened the door and left. When it shut behind her, James quickly shucked his clothes and gingerly eased his way into the tub. For some reason, he had a strong visual image of a rascally rabbit doing the same from the old Saturday morning cartoons.

“This is heaven.”

He took a handful of soap and commenced the task of removing days of accumulated sweat and dirt. “Remember that first bath when we first met?”

Miko laughed and nodded. “You almost had to throw me in.”

“And now you love them.”

“I make my priests bathe at least twice a week,” he said. “Some are quite reluctant at first.” He turned thoughtful then chuckled. “I actually did have to have Father Vickor tossed in his first time.” He laughed. “You never heard such cursing and vows of retaliation.”

“Did it come to blows?”

“Nearly.”

James laughed then dunked his head under the water to scrub his hair. Coming up, he wiped the water from his eyes and then leaned back until only his head was above the surface. His eyes closed and he laid there allowing the heated water to absorb his aches and pains.

All too soon the water cooled and he was forced to get out. After donning the robe, he walked to the window and gazed out. All he saw was the road where it entered the area illuminated by the light coming through the inn’s windows. Hopefully tomorrow the others will arrive and they can continue on to Meliana and Kenny.

He was almost asleep when they came to drain the tubs then hauled them away. Their serving girl took their clothes, vowing to take care of them and to have them returned clean in the morning.

James didn’t even get off the bed. And once they were gone, he blew out the candle and went to sleep.

In the morning, true to her word, their clothes arrived with their breakfast; clean, dry, and neatly folded. They had moved the small table to beneath the window so they could keep an eye on the road as they ate. A few riders and a long caravan entered the road from the caravansary just outside of town. One farmer with a heavily laden, covered wagon came from the wilds. Of their friends, there was no sign.

“Be surprised to see them today in any event,” Miko said.

“One can hope. Jiron will not allow them to tarry overlong. He is anxious to see Aleya again and let her know that he and Jira are alive and well.”

Finishing the last of the eggs, onions, and tuber medley, James sat back in sated satisfaction. “How would you propose we find that priest of Asran Brother Willim mentioned?”

“Apparently he frequents taverns at night,” James replied. “According to Brother Willim, we’ll find Brother Martin in one after dark.”

“If he is in Zixtyn.”

“True enough.”

They dressed and James reveled in the feel of freshly laundered clothes. Slinging their packs over their shoulders, they headed downstairs and informed the staff they would stay another night. Once outside, they made the rounds of the local taverns and inns to both discover if Jiron and the others had arrived, and if any were the haunt of the priest of Asran.

As noon rolled around, they figured Jiron’s group had yet to arrive. No one had heard of them. As for Brother Martin, every barkeep knew of Asran’s priest. Seemed he was a regular at several.

“Yeah, I know Brother Martin,” the barkeep of the Cracked Flagon said. “He comes in here a couple times a week and drinks three ales, no more-no less, then leaves.”

“Think he will be here tonight?” Miko asked.

The barkeep shrugged. “He hasn’t been for several nights, so maybe.”

“Any idea where he might be now?”

Eyeing him meaningfully, the barkeep said, “Might.”

James knew when someone was fishing for a bribe; he pulled out four coppers and laid them on the counter.

The barkeep looked less than pleased.

He added a silver.

“Try The Blooming Hedge,” the barkeep said as he scooped up the coins. “It’s one of those flowery places women and gardeners go. He’s mentioned it a time or two.”

“Where can we find it?”

Jerking a thumb toward the back of the tavern, he said, “Three streets that way. Can’t miss it. Look for all the flowers.”

“My thanks,” Miko replied.

“If you want to thank me, come back in tonight. Business has been bad.”

They left without replying.

“A flowery place, huh?” James mused. “Seems the kind of place a priest of Asran would hang out in.”

“Most definitely.”

Heading in the direction the barkeep indicated, they came to the third street and didn’t immediately spy the shop. Then a lady leading two porters burdened by potted plants approached from the right.

“Must be that way,” James said and turned in that direction.

Two blocks later and a flowering, vine covered doorway appeared across the street.

“See anything familiar?” James asked.

Miko nodded. “The vines from the Waste.” Tendrils of leafy vines bearing a white flower with three yellow stalks growing from the center hung thickly along the doorframe and trailed along the walls adjoining it.

Starting for the door, James suddenly paused.

“What is it?” Miko asked.

“How are they growing?” He turned to Miko. “If they feed on radiation, and die in its absence, how can they prosper here in a place without radiation?”

“There may be more to them than Brother Willim let on.”

“Or knew,” James added. “Either way, I really don’t care. Let’s find this priest, tell him what we know, and get back to the inn.”

They entered The Blooming Hedge. Several ladies stood in a semi-circle around a man holding a potted plant with beautiful red blossoms.

“…sure to keep the soil moist, but not damp,” the man was saying. “Also, keep in mind that as it grows you will need to trim it regularly or it will stop blossoming on its lower branches. Once that happens, it is very hard to get them back.”

“Are you sure this will grow in a partly shaded area?”

“It does best in an area that gets sun either in the afternoon or morning but not both. All day sun will cause it to wilt during the hotter days.”

The man glanced up as they entered. He set the plant down on a nearby counter. “If you will excuse me ladies, I have others in need of my help.”

“Thank you for all your advice, Brother Martin.”

Taking the lady’s hand, he saluted it as a gentleman should, then said, “It was my pleasure.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?” another asked.

“Quite possibly. Until then, I bid you a fond farewell.”

Leaving the ladies to chat among themselves, he approached James and Miko.

“So, you’re a Gardener, aren’t you?” he asked, gazing directly at James.

“I’ve been told that,” James replied, then asked, “You know who I am?”

The priest nodded. “A mutual friend sent word you might drop by.”

“How?”

“We have our ways. Now, let’s go somewhere we can talk comfortably, preferably over a noon meal.”

“Okay.”

“Excellent. I know a place not far from here where they serve the most delectable duck.”

James gestured for him to lead the way. “Sounds good.”

Brother Martin grinned. “Tastes good, too.”

He took them nearly halfway across town before coming to The Saucy Saucer. A cut above the other eateries in town, it catered to a much more distinguished clientele.

“This place must be expensive,” James mused as he took in how the servers were dressed in fine clothes and art adorned the walls. Cloth covered the tables, and those at the tables, were not the average riff-raff one finds in a public tavern. Instead, they were tradesmen, nobility, and others of means.

“Ah, Brother Martin,” a sharp dressed man greeted as he approached. “I see we have friends today.”

“That I do,” he replied. “I do beg your pardon for such short notice, but is my table available?”

“As it happens, it is. If you will follow me?”

The table in question sat near the back of the room in a corner next to a large window, perfect for viewing the hustle and bustle of city life. As they sat, the man asked, “Can I interest any of you in a glass of wine?”

“Do you still have more of the Wynhym pressings?” Brother Martin asked.

“Several bottles yet.”

“We’ll take one.”

“Very good. And for your meal?”

“My usual, and make it for three.”

“Roast Duck it is.” He took in James and Miko. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No,” James replied. “The wine and food will be fine.”

“I shall be back in a moment, please excuse me.”

James watched him leave. “Nice fellow.”

“Yes he is. I come here often.”

“I can see why,” Miko said, picking up the linen napkin sitting before him.

Brother Martin nodded then turned to James. “So, tell me about the Waste. Did you really make it to the heart?”

“Yes, to the very ruins of Ith-Zirul itself.”

“Fascinating. Wish I could have been there.”

James related their experience with the stalkers, the transportation tubes, and finally the creature in the pit itself. Brother Martin asked many questions and they answered as best they could. He was most interested in the radiation suits and the fact that lead blocks radiation.

“I did not know that. Such information will assuredly be helpful.”

He also mentioned the shimmering field and asked Brother Martin if he had seen it.

“Once. It scared me something awful.”

“How so?” Miko asked.

“It traveled across the sky, like you said, and encountered a flock of birds.”

At that time the wine arrived with three glasses. Their server opened the bottle, offered Brother Martin the cork for his approval. When the priest nodded, the server poured a little in each of the glasses.

“The duck will be ready in not too long.”

“Very good,” the priest said.

When the server left, James said, “You mentioned birds?”

“That’s right. That shimmering field as you call it moved speedily across the sky. A flock of birds flew straight into it.”

“And?”

“And as soon as the birds entered it, they seemed to grow confused. Instead of moving as one, they flew in all directions; some colliding. Then almost as one, they plummeted to the ground.”

He paused to sip his wine and gauge how his tale was being taken by those listening. When it looked like he was being believed, he continued.

“I hurried over to where the birds fell. The field was long gone by the time I arrived. Birds by the hundred flapped upon the ground.”

“What happened to them?”

Brother Martin turned to James. “I don’t know. I tried to help them, truly I did but something was wrong with them, something I had never encountered before.” He took another sip. “Despite my efforts, the birds grew still and they soon died. All of them.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before. Nor has there been an affliction in beast or bird that I could not overcome…until now.”

“That is terrible,” Miko said sadly.

“Yes,” Brother Martin agreed. “It is.” His gaze settled on the wine glass in his hand as his mind went back to that day.

“We’ve been hounded by the shimmering field for a while now,” James said. Then when the priest raised his gaze from the glass to him, he added, “It would seem it is attracted to magic.”

“But it did nothing when I tried to save the birds.”

“It is not attracted to priestly magic,” Miko explained. “Only that of a mage.”

“Curious.”

“Indeed.”

“Priestly magic comes from the gods,” Brother Martin said. “A mage gets his from the world around him.”

“Exactly,” James agreed. “Yet we haven’t figured out why it makes that distinction.”

“I shall pass on this information and perhaps an answer can be found. But until then,” he pulled off a leg and took a bite, “let us enjoy this duck.”

After the meal they said goodbye to Brother Martin and headed back to their inn via a bakery where they bought a dozen fresh-from-the-oven tarts. Once there, they settled in and waited for the others to arrive.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It wasn’t until late afternoon of the next day that the others finally arrived.

James was perched by the window overlooking the road when he saw them approach the outskirts.

“Finally,” he said.

Miko popped up from the bed where he had been lying and hurried to the window. “Looks like they are all there.”

“I was worried about that,” James said.

They went downstairs and stood on the front porch of the inn. Though Tinok and Shorty were in the lead, it was Jira who first saw them.

“Uncle!” she hollered and then kicked her horse to go faster.

Jiron reached over and caught her reins, bringing her impending gallop to a halt. “No you don’t, young lady,” he said. “You stay by me.”

“How did they get here so fast?”

Potbelly turned to Scar, “Beats me. But if anyone can travel fast, it would be those two.”

Jiron moved ahead and was the first to reach the inn.

“How did it go?”

“All according to plan,” James replied.

Jiron eyed them both up and down and didn’t see any injuries. Of course, if there had been any, Miko would have just healed them.

“Scar ran into trouble when they went hunting a creature to capture.”

James looked toward the duo and could see Scar was a little paler than normal. “Nothing serious I hope?”

“It was for a bit,” he replied then turned to Miko, “but your priests took care of it.”

“Glad we could be of service.”

“Let’s get you rooms,” James said. Then his gaze went to Eddra in the carriage. “How is she doing?”

“Fine for the most part,” Jiron explained. “The damage done her body from the stoning is healing well, Father Keller has seen to her needs. Her eye is still a bit swollen and won’t open, but that’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

“Her mind. It’s gone or something. She mumbles all the time, mostly incoherently. When she appears awake and of her right mind, she talks to people who aren’t there.”

Miko grew thoughtful as he gazed at where she sat in the carriage. “It could simply be that age has ravaged her capacities. It happens, have seen it many times.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, that is something no amount of priestly magic can heal. It is an aspect of the natural order of life.”

“Well, let’s get her inside. We’re on the third floor, but we’ll get her one here off the common room.”

Father Keller and Kip helped Eddra from the carriage while James, Miko and Jiron went inside to see about rooms. The others took the horses around back to the stables before joining them inside.

A room was procured near the back that would be quiet. Father Keller offered to stay with Eddra and see to her needs. Everyone else paired up.

“I’ll go with Shorty,” Kip offered magnanimously.

“No you won’t,” Father Vickor announced. “You and I shall share a room.”

Kip’s face fell slightly.

“Will give you a chance to catch up on your studies.”

His face fell even further.

Shorty slapped him on the back and said with poorly hidden mirth, “My condolences.”

Kip turned to Miko in the hopes he would intercede, but was disappointed. “You are still a Novice, Kip,” his High Priest said. “Did you think this to be a holiday?”

The look he gave Miko said that he had.

Giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder Miko said, “It is not so bad.”

“No, Reverend Father.”

James handed everyone their keys then said “Get settled into your rooms and we’ll gather in mine a little bit before dinner.”

As Scar passed him, he asked, “How are you?”

“Good as new.”

Behind him, Potbelly mouthed “no” and shook his head.

James nodded. “Glad to hear it. Meet you upstairs.”

Scar paused, “Upstairs?”

“Yep, third floor.”

The look on his face said he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of climbing so many stairs.

“Not to worry,” Potbelly chimed in, “He’s good as new don’t you know.”

Scar whacked at him. “We’ll be there.”

“Not terribly important if you think you would be better served resting and recovering.”

Scar’s face hardened. “We’ll be there.”

“Okay.”

James went up to his room while Miko remained downstairs to confer with his priests. Once there he removed his mirror from his pack and set it on the table near the window. He concentrated on Meliana and in a moment, her face appeared. She sat at her father’s dinner table with a big spread of food before her. Kenny sat to her left. Both were somber.

He wished he dared inform them magically that he lived, but feared to alert those who attacked the island should they still be keeping an eye out for such activity. Also, he knew that working too much magic for too long would surely bring the shimmering field. Panning back, the others at the table came into view. Aleya sat across from her and Kendrick, her father, sat at the table’s head. A few of the others he knew as family or close friends.

How he wished he could be there. Sighing, he ran his finger along Meliana’s image for a moment before letting go the magic and allowing the image to fade.

No sooner had he put the mirror away than Jiron and Jira arrived followed soon after by Shorty and his two apprentices.

“Master,” Azhan greeted with a bow. Hikai merely bowed.

“Good to see you boys.” James glanced to Jiron. “Been behaving themselves?”

“I found no fault with their actions.”

“Indeed, Master,” Azhan said. “We wish to only serve the great Dark Mage in any way he should see fit.”

“Well, keep doing what you have been and I will be pleased.”

Hikai grinned and Azhan said, “We will.”

He motioned for them to take a seat on his bed.

“The families are safe,” he told Jiron. “Just checked and they are having dinner.”

“Can I see Mother?” Jira asked.

“Okay, just a quick check.”

James got his mirror out and soon had Aleya’s image in view.

Jira reached out to touch the image but Jiron stayed her hand.

“She looks sad,” she said.

“She is,” her father replied. “But think how happy she will be when we arrive.”

“Me too!” she squealed. “I’ll even wear a dress if that will make her happy.”

Jiron grinned at James. “I’m sure it will.”

“But,” she said, turning to her father, “not until we get there, right?”

Laughing, Jiron shook his head. “What you have on now will do fine.”

About to cancel the image, he noticed his two apprentices sanding just behind him looking over his shoulders.

“How do you do that, Master?” Hikai asked.

“That is truly amazing,” added Azhan.

“It’s a little spell I picked up in a faraway land,” he explained.

Azhan nodded. “Can you teach us?”

“Perhaps someday,” he said. “But we have not the time right now.”

The image faded back to the normal reflective image and Jira sighed. James retuned it to his pack. “At least we know they are doing well.”

“That is something, at least,” Jiron agreed.

“I don’t dare do that too often, or it will attract the shimmering field.”

“The one that caused such problems in Tapu?” asked Azhan.

“The very same.” He glanced to Jiron. “It’s attracted to a mage’s magic. Not priestly magic for some reason. The longer and stronger the spell, the sooner it arrives.”

“So,” Azhan said, “Spells should be of short duration or only of a minor nature.”

“For now at least,” James replied.

Scar and Potbelly arrived, each with a leg of mutton and a large mug of ale.

“Did you bring enough for everyone?”

In the midst of a bite, Scar paused and looked at James in confusion. “What?”

He chuckled. “Nothing.”

Tinok arrived with Shorty and Father Vickor. Father Keller remained in the room with Eddra.

James filled them in on what they found in the Waste, as well as what they had thus far figured out about the shimmering field. He refrained from mentioning the Star as his two apprentices were in the room and despite their assurances of loyalty, didn’t feel it prudent to extend them his full confidence.

“As we make our way farther south, I am hoping the shimmering field will become less of an issue.” He directed his last comments to his apprentices. “I still don’t want you two to perform any magic without my direct permission.”

Two heads bobbed affirmative.

“I just checked on how my wife and son are doing, they and Aleya are fine and remain in Meliana’s father’s care.”

“That’s good,” and other affirmations cycled throughout the room.

“In the morning,” he began then turned to Scar, “providing all are able to ride, we’ll head with all due speed to the coast and take ship to Corillian. With luck we should be there within the week.”

Jira clapped and Jiron hushed her.

“What then?” Shorty asked.

“Then we get the women to safety. After that, we turn this world upside down to find the one that attacked my home.”

“I still think it was Lord Cytok,” Scar said. “He’s been itching to kill you since the war.”

Jiron shook his head. “No. If he had a mage of that power under his command, he would have unleashed him on the other warlords by now and set himself up as Emperor. It’s definitely someone else.”

“All these things must be connected.”

All eyes turned to Miko.

He turned to James. “The attack on your island, the shimmering field, perhaps even poor Eddra I feel are somehow connected.”

“What makes you think that?”

“A mage of awesome power hitherto unknown makes an appearance to attack you. Then a shimmering field appears that directly affects your magic. A cow that does magic? Related? I would think so.”

“Cow?” Azhan asked then grew silent when James shot him an impatient look.

“And Eddra?” asked Father Vickor. “How does she play into all this?”

“That I do not know. She may not figure into this in any way. She may simply be a poor old woman upon whom a village vented their fear.”

“She’s odd,” Shorty said, “I’ll grant you.”

“I think she’s nice,” Jira announced.

Jiron smiled and patted her on the head.

“Does anyone have any thoughts on these matters?” James asked. His gaze roved over each until lingering on his apprentices who shook their heads.

“Alright then. I’m hungry. Let’s go down and eat.”

They found Father Keller and Eddra already in the common room.

Eddra looked small and frail sitting across from the priest.

James came and sat at their table. “How are you doing, Eddra?”

She glanced at him, her one good eye met his and held his gaze for a moment before returning to her soup.

“She had some energy this evening so thought to bring her out here and see if it might help.”

“And how’s it going?” James asked.

“No change,” Father Keller replied.

When Miko joined them at the table, she set her spoon down into her bowl and reached out to him. She then spoke a few words.

Miko gently took her hand and spoke a few words in reply.

She let go and returned to slowly eating her soup.

James arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“She called me Marzan and asked if the pigs had been brought in,” he explained. “I told her they had been and that seemed to satisfy her.” Then he turned to Father Vickor. “Marzan… has she mentioned the name before?”

“No, Reverend Father. Most times her words are jumbled and make no sense.”

Miko sat back. “Interesting. Must be someone from her past.”

Eddra glanced around to those at her table, and then set the spoon into her bowl. For a moment everyone waited to see what she would do, then her good eye closed and her head bobbed forward.

Getting to his feet, Father Keller moved around to her side. “I guess it’s to bed for us.” He very gently tapped her on the shoulder to wake her. When her head came up he held out a hand. She took it and stood. “See you in the morning.”

James watched the pair walk slowly toward the hallway leading to their room with Father Keller’s arm wrapped around her back for support.

“What do you plan to do with her?”

He turned to Jiron. “I hadn’t really given it much thought.”

“There are places the elderly are taken that are used to those in her condition.”

“And do we have time to find one?” James asked. “Besides that, some are pretty bad, or so my grandparents told me. Here in the Empire, I would hate to think what her fate would be should we abandon her to one. I’m hoping Kendrick will know of a place in Corillian that will treat her well.”

“If they know that, uh, you are taking an interest her care and well-being, I would think any place would treat her with the utmost consideration,” Shorty said.

“While I am in the area, perhaps,” James replied. “But I shall worry about that when we get there. For now,” he glanced to where the bard from the night before was setting up over in the corner,” let’s enjoy good food, good music, and good company.”

“In that order,” quipped Scar.

Laughing, James nodded and flagged down a server.

Chapter Forty

They woke with the sun the following morning, had a hearty breakfast and then put Zixtyn behind them. Several days of hard riding later, the unmistakable odor of the sea wafted upon the breeze. Not long after that came the acrid smell of sulfuric fumes emitted by the newly formed chain of volcanoes off the coast where the Sorna Iron Mines used to be. Then when the road crested a hill and the oceanic panorama came into view, they saw more than one smoke-emitting cone rising from the water far off in the distance.

“This brings back memories,” Jiron mumbled, then glanced to James who nodded.

“Not good ones, either.”

“You did what you had to,” Miko said, “And I thank you for it.”

Even after the years since the war, the aftermath of the tsunamis that had wracked the coastline was still evident. Debris washed upon hillsides, partially destroyed buildings that had never been repaired, and even a shattered boat where no boat had a business being.

Their road ended at the main trade route that ran up and down the coast. A small town sprawled across the junction, most of the buildings were those that catered to travelers. A dock with three small ships stretched out over the water.

“Think any of those would do?” James asked.

“The two-masted one might get us to Corillian,” Scar said, “but we’d have better luck down in Tiru Stali.”

“We can ask around and see if she’s available,” Potbelly suggested.

“Do that.” James glanced to the Pit Masters. “If it is, see if they will trade passage for our extra mounts.”

They took Tinok with them to see about the two-masted ship while James and the rest went to The Spray Queen, an inn and eatery just off the dock. Scar and Potbelly arrived a few minutes after they had sat down and ordered.

“The captain said he could take us,” Scar announced.

“For our horses?” James asked.

“Yes. And he has a small cargo area that can hold a horse for each of us,” he explained. “Barely.”

Jiron said, “It might be better to see what is available in Tiru Stali.”

James shook his head. “I want to get there as soon as possible,” he insisted. “I won’t be at ease until my family is safe with me.”

“Then we need to get an early start,” Potbelly said. “The captain wants to sail with the tide and that’s before sunrise.” He flagged down their server, a buxom young girl with a lilt in her step.

“Ale,” he hollered, “and keep it coming.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and hurried to the bar.

It felt good to get off the road. James enjoyed the food, the company, and the bard that strolled through the dining area playing a lute. But he was anxious to see how Meliana was doing. Each night and morning, he along with Jiron, Jira, and his two apprentices when he wasn’t paying close enough attention, would gather around his mirror. It had become a regular ritual, one that this evening was already overdue.

Once sated and full of roast beef and assorted vegetables, James stood and asked, “Shall we check on the family?”

Jiron nodded and motioned for Jira to rise. She hopped up with a grin, eager to see her mother again.

Leaving the others in the common room, they ascended the stairs to the second level where their room was located. Their window overlooked a local bazaar; the sound of merchants hawking their wares wafted upon the evening breeze.

A small table sat to one side. James pulled his mirror out unwrapped it and set the mirror upon it.

Jira hovered in close, her hands gripping the table’s edge in excited anticipation.

“What do you think she’s doing?”

“Probably missing you, I would imagine.”

“I can’t wait to see how excited she will be to see us.”

Jiron patted her on the head. “Neither can I.”

The image coalesced and they found Aleya strolling through the garden. Meliana and Kenny accompanied her. Dressed in black, they made a sad picture.

“I wish we could be there tomorrow,” she stated.

Without taking his eyes from the scene unfolding in the mirror, James said, “We will be there soon enough.”

Early the following morning, long before the sun even thought about peeking over the horizon, they were at the dock.

“Hello the ship!” Scar hollered.

A rather short man of obvious northern stock came to the rail and looked down; his gaze could still an ocean swell.

“Captain Anyn,” Scar said.

For a second the captain silently stared at them, then asked, “The fellow from last night wanting passage?”

Scar nodded. “That is correct.” He gestured to where Shorty and Kip stood with the horses to be used for their fare. “We brought the horses.”

Captain Anyn turned and hollered, “Cal, take the horses to Master Azzan.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied a wiry youth of little more than thirteen summers. He hurried down the gangplank and with Kip and Shorty’s aid, led the horses away.

Scar started toward the gangplank with his horse when the captain said, “My crew will see to your horses and packs. Leave what you do not wish to carry on the dock and they will get them stowed away. Then come aboard.”

“Ok, Captain.”

“Scar,” Jiron said in a quiet aside, “you, Potbelly and Tinok keep an eye on things.” When the Pit Master turned to him, he added, “Make sure nothing gets…misplaced.”

“Right.”

James was already on the gangplank followed by Miko and his priests escorting a wobbly Eddra.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said as he came aboard.

The captain’s gaze came full upon him. “You’re the one in charge?”

“I am.”

“Just keep your people out of our way and we’ll get you where you need to go.”

Nodding, James asked, “Will do.”

Grunting, the captain turned and resumed barking orders to his crew.

An open and unbustling area fore of the foremast looked to be a good place to stay out of the way. They asked a crewmember for blankets for their elderly companion and the lad returned with an armful. Not entirely the cleanest, but they were better than the hard deck for Eddra’s poor old bones. Once nestled in them, she fell quickly asleep.

Jira moved to the rail opposite the dock and looked down at the dark water.

“What you looking for?

She looked up to her uncle and grinned, then shrugged.

James chuckled and tousled her hair. “I was, and still am, the same way.”

The crew was efficient in the stowing of their horses and belongings. One at a time they were blindfolded then led up the gangplank. Working them into the hold was trickier but in short order, they were stored and secured. Then came Eddra’s carriage. While the faintest hint foreshadowing the dawn that was to come broke in the east, the crew cast off the mooring lines. A single sail unfurled to catch the early morning breeze and the ship eased its way from the dock.

Orders were shouted and men hopped to it. As they made their way to deeper water, crewmen lowered additional sails and the ship leapt forward.

Standing at the bow, James faced full into the wind, the spray from breaking waves harkened him back to a time long ago. On a ferry crossing San Francisco Bay during an outing with his grandparents. He smiled to himself at the memory of that summer day, then chuckled. How he had frozen.

“Bring a jacket,” his grandfather had told him.

He rolled his eyes at the absurd thought. In Haveston it was over ninety degrees; why in the world would he need a jacket? The last thing he wanted to do was to carry a jacket around while they toured Alcatraz. He had thought they were crazy…and he froze.

When wearing shorts and a t-shirt, a cup of cocoa did little to ward off the chill when faced with a cold, spray-laced breeze. It took little time before he was shaking and teeth began to chatter. Seeking shelter within the small viewing cabin made little difference as half the windows were open and the door failed to close properly.

The fact that the sun’s warm rays lay behind a layer of clouds only compounded his misery. Finding a spot with only intermittent breezes, he drank his cocoa and vowed to never again treat advice from his grandparents with disdain.

“Cold?”

He turned to find a man in his early thirties, slightly balding under his ball cap and wearing a very warm looking dark-blue jacket.

James nodded. “Yeah.”

“Life lessons are hard to live through, but worth it in the end.”

“What?” he asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

The man shrugged. “Just making conversation. Helps to keep your mind off the fact you’re freezing your butt off.”

James rolled his eyes as his teeth chattered. “Not helping.”

Swells coursing across the bay made the boat lurch to and fro. James held onto the back of a seat to keep steady.

The man pointed off to the west.

“Storm coming in.”

Dark clouds filled the horizon.

“Not a good day to be without a jacket, boy.”

“Yeah, I figured that out already.”

Chuckling, the man nodded. “There are times when everything you know says to do one thing, you later find to your dismay that you should have done another.” Seeing James’ cocoa cup empty, the man handed him another.

“Thank you.” Holding it just beneath his chin, James reveled in the warmth steaming up across his face. His shivers subsided.

“Welcome.”

He took a sip. “What do you mean, do another?”

“Simply that you should have been prepared for what was to come,” the man replied, “but you were not. And now you are paying the price.”

“How was I to know I would freeze?”

The man shot him an annoyed look. “Your grandfather said to bring a jacket. Yet you didn’t.”

“But it was hot back home.”

“So? Don’t you trust your grandfather?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yet not enough to take his advice, advice he repeated several times.”

James had no response to that. He wasn’t about to admit being stubborn and stupid, no matter how apparent.

“How was I to know?”

“How indeed…”

“Ok,” James said, “I should have listened to him.”

“That’s obvious, now. But do such revelations, after the fact, help you in any way?”

“Not really.”

The ship’s horn sounded indicating they were approaching the dock.

“You better hurry and rejoin your family,” the man said.

James looked around and saw his grandparents moving toward the disembarkation area.

“May you find someone that will have a jacket to loan you.” When James turned toward the man, the man tapped the window. “The storm is almost upon us.”

Rain droplets dotted the glass. Far off in the distance flashed a bolt of lightning.

“It looks to be a real frog-strangler.”

A tug upon his elbow and an excited cry of glee brought him back to the here and now.

“Uncle!” Jira cried as she pointed to the water below. “Look, dolphins!”

For a moment the memory held onto him, but quickly released its hold. “Yes, Jira,” he said, head clearing. He watched them cavort and play in the bow wave.

He hadn’t thought about that trip for a long time. He could go for a cup of cocoa right about then.

Jiron joined them at the rail next to Jira.

“Captain said we would be three days to Corillian.”

James nodded. “Can’t wait to be there.”

“Mama’s going to be so happy!”

Jiron patted his daughter’s head. “I’m sure she will.”

“Will she make us a cake with berries on top?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t be surprised, Jira,” he replied. “Anything for you.”

Once dawn’s light shone upon them, they gathered close together at the forecastle where James sat cross-legged before his mirror. There he brought into view first Meliana and Kenny who walked along the shoreline, then Aleya who they caught changing for the day. Jira giggled and James quickly canceled the spell and returned the mirror to normal.

Jiron wore an amused expression when he said to James, “We probably shouldn’t mention this to her.”

“Probably not,” James agreed with a chuckle. Then to Jira, “Give it a minute and we’ll try again.”

She giggled some more.

In a few minutes, her image once again appeared in the mirror. This time she walked down a quiet corridor.

“Where is she going?” Jira asked.

“From the looks of the corridor, I think she is heading to the kitchen,” James replied. “Most likely getting breakfast.”

A nudge from behind was followed by Shorty’s whisper, “Captain’s coming.”

James nodded, canceled the spell, and slipped the mirror into his pack. He then rose to his feet.

“Everything all right, Captain?”

“All is as to be expected.” He glanced to those before him, his expression unreadable. “There are six bunks below you can take turns at.”

Scar looked less than pleased. “Take turns?”

“Thank you, Captain,” Miko said before Scar exacerbated the situation. “I’m sorry if we’ve inconvenienced anyone.”

“You’ve paid your coins,” he said. “Six bunks is only your due.”

“Think there should be one for each of us…” mumbled Scar.

James cast him a stern look and the Pit Master kept quiet. When he returned his gaze to the captain, found the man to be staring intently at him.

After a moment, the captain asked, “Have we sailed together?”

“Don’t think so,” James replied cautiously. “I’m rarely down in this area.”

“Still,” the captain continued, “there’s something about you that strikes me as familiar.” A few more moments of contemplation, then he broke eye contact. “We eat twice a day. You’ll eat same as we.”

“Would expect nothing else.”

Captain Anyn nodded, paused a moment to briefly look at James one more time, then turned and headed for to his quarters.

“Nice fellow,” Shorty commented sarcastically.

“So long as he gets us there,” replied Jiron.

Later that evening, long after land had vanished into the horizon, Kip was losing at a game of Bones and Daggers.

“Come on, Kip,” Father Vickor chided. “Are you going to let a girl beat you?”

Jira had three long daggers to Kip’s solitary one and she was maneuvering him toward the kill. The conclusion was foregone.

The novice turned an aggravated gaze upon his superior, “Think you can do better?” he spat.

The priest shook his head and laughed. “Not in the slightest. She’d carve me up and feed me to the dogs for sure.”

“No shame in losing to a better man,” Shorty said, then added “or a better girl.”

Jira beamed, Kip shrunk in on himself and the others laughed.

Jiron laid a hand on the novice’s shoulder. “You play a good game, Kip. It’s just that she plays a better one.”

“It is in her blood,” Miko stated.

“My blood?” she asked, then turned to her uncle.

James smiled at her. “It just means you are your father’s daughter.”

“Oh,” she replied, though failing to glean understanding.

Pieces moved and as everyone but Kip had known, his long dagger soon fell to hers and the game was over.

Chapter Forty-One

The first day at sea passed uneventfully. Kip and Jira played Bones and Daggers, with the others taking their turns from time to time. Most held their own with Jira while her father won more than he lost. Kip tried his luck against Scar and lost three consecutive games while with Shorty he won two out of three.

Eddra drifted in and out of consciousness. At times she would seem coherent though she failed to respond to all attempts at conversation. Azhan managed to get a few sentences out of her after the midday meal.

“She wanted to know where Gahz had gone to,” he explained.

“Gahz?” James questioned. “Who’s that?”

His apprentice shrugged. “She did not elaborate, Master.”

Her eyes were closed and it was plain to see she had fallen asleep yet again.

“She is gaining strength,” Miko said. “Her wounds are healing as one would expect of someone her age. The swelling around her eye is half the size as when she first joined us. She may even be able to open it in a day or two.”

That night when they gathered at the forecastle, James brought out the mirror and they again watched their loved ones going about their evening business. These viewings were the high point of their day. He couldn’t wait to hold them in his arms.

“Master?”

He turned from a scene of Meliana, Kenny and Aleya walking through Kendrick’s flowers, to Azhan.

“Yes?”

“Could you show us how you do that?”

James paused for a moment as if giving the question due consideration. He looked from one apprentice to the other, then shook his head. “This is neither the time nor the place for such instruction.”

Azhan bobbed his head. “As you wish, Master.”

With any luck, such instruction would be postponed for a very long time. He could see the fire burning in Azhan’s eyes, the fire to learn and prove himself. But until he had an idea as to the kind of mage Azhan would become, James planned to keep much of his knowledge to himself; and as for that which was due to his learning from Earth, that he never planned to share. He gestured for his apprentices to accompany him over near the rail away from the others.

“What can you two do?”

“I am a strong mage of the Second Circle,” Azhan replied as if that said it all. Gesturing to his friend, he added, “Hikai was raised to the Second Circle less than a year ago.”

“That’s all well and good,” James said, “but that tells me little. What can you do? Where do your strengths lie?”

“Would you like us to show you?” Azhan asked.

James shook his head. “Not here. Just tell me.”

“All mages of the First Circle are trained in rudimentary combat skills. Both Hikai and myself can hold our own against non-mages.”

“Heard of the earthen berm you raised at Tapu.”

“Yes,” Azhan said, beaming. “Working with the earth has always come easy to me.”

James turned to Hikai. “And you? Anything you do exceptionally well?”

Looking afraid to even speak, Hikai shook his head. “No, Master.”

“I see…”

Seeing James being more or less disappointed, Azhan said, “He can bring down the lightning.”

“Oh? Just a single bolt or can you summon many at one time?”

“In one battle two months ago,” Hikai replied, “I brought down three in less than a heartbeat. Killed seven bandits.”

“Impressive.”

Hikai beamed.

“Our skills are meager compared to yours, Master,” Azhan said. “We were given just enough training to aid the patrols, and then we were sent off.” He glanced to Hikai who nodded agreement. “I’m sure under your tutelage, our skills will improve to where we can be worthy of you.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Azhan’s exuberance waned. “Yes, Master.”

“Captain!” hollered a sailor high up in the rigging. “Smoke off the port bow!”

Moving to the bow, Captain Anyn removed a spyglass and directed it toward the wisp of smoke rising off in the distance.

James immediately produced his mirror and an image of a ship aflame appeared.

“Helmsman,” the captain said, “make to intercept.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman replied and the ship turned.

Everyone crowded around him as he zoomed the image outward.

“Any survivors?” Scar asked.

When signs of life failed to materialize in the broad view, he zoomed in closer and panned it from bow to stern.

The deck showed evidence of charring in multiple places. The mizzenmast had been shorn in twain four feet from the deck, its main body hung off the starboard side.

Bodies lay strewn across the deck; many held swords.

“There was a fight,” Jiron observed.

“No doubt,” agreed Scar.

James turned to Azhan. “Pirates?”

“I do not know, Master. It is certainly possible.”

“Or slavers,” offered Hikai. “I have heard tales.”

After scanning the burning ship a moment longer, James canceled the image, placed the mirror back in his pack then walked over to the captain.

Captain Anyn lowered the spyglass and turned at his approach.

“What’s happening, Captain?”

“Ship in distress,” he replied. “We’re going to see if we can lend aid.” He paused a moment and checked James’ face for signs of displeasure at having to be delayed. Not finding any, he returned his attention to the spyglass and the fast approaching ship.

A moment later he turned to the man high in the rigging and hollered, “Any survivors?”

“None that I can see, Captain.”

“Damn pirates,” he mumbled.

“This happens often?” Miko asked.

The captain shook his head. “No. Quite rare for these waters in fact. But it does happen.”

All the sails had been consumed by the fire. The bulk of the smoke emerged from the hold though several other places still smoldered.

“Doesn’t look like pirates,” the Captain announced as they drew near.

“What makes you say that?” Jiron asked.

He pointed toward four boxes secured with rope near the tiller housing. The top one was badly singed and broken open; rods of a dark metal lay spilled on the deck. “Pig iron. Pirates would have taken that. Very valuable.”

Putting the spyglass in his tunic, Captain Anyn turned to his crew and commenced shouting orders. Sails were furled and as they came abreast of the derelict, the anchor was released. Grappling hooks sailed across to take hold of the ship’s side and the two were pulled together.

The captain turned to James, “You and your people remain aboard while we check for survivors.”

“Aye, Captain.”

A score of sailors hopped the rails and proceeded to make a methodical search of the ship. Another dozen headed for the pig iron and worked to transfer the valuable iron to their ship along with other crates and barrels containing unknown items.

“Sami!”

Azhan’s holler and subsequent hop to the other ship took them by surprise.

“Come back here!” Tinok yelled as he sprinted after the young apprentice.

He stopped and knelt next to a lifeless young boy lying in a pool of blood. The boy had been stabbed several times.

James came to his apprentice just as Azhan reached out a hand and smoothed a swath of hair from the young boy’s face.

“Who was he?”

Looking up at his master with sadness in his eyes, he replied, “A friend from the School.”

“A mage?”

Azhan shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Master,” Hikai said, “Sami was brought to the school while we were still of the First Circle. Not everyone has what it takes to be mages. He had some skill, but was unable to master more than the most rudimentary spells.”

He came to kneel next to Azhan. “He was deemed not a threat to himself or others and so was released a year ago.”

“I thought they killed the rejects,” Scar stated.

“Not always.”

The approach of Captain Anyn drew James’ attention. He turned toward him.

“Everyone’s dead.”

“Any idea who did this?” James asked.

He shook his head. “No,” then paused a moment. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“How do you mean?”

The captain motioned for him to follow and led him to the forecastle housing. He pointed to a large charred section that began three feet from the deck. “What do you make of this?”

James shrugged. “I’m not sure what you are asking.”

Then Scar said, “It’s circular.”

The captain nodded. “Exactly.” He glanced to James. “I don’t know of anything that would make a pattern like this. If alcohol or tar had been used to start it, there would have been char tracks all the way down the side to the deck.”

James stepped back and saw where the charred area was definitely circular. Perhaps not perfect, but close enough. “Odd.”

“Sail, ho!” came the cry from the lookout far above

“Where away?”

“Three degrees off the port bow.”

Several miles out, a ship was heading their way.

“Back to the ship,” the captain ordered as he raced to the rail. “Release the lines. Get underway.”

“Aye, Captain,” men replied as they scrambled to carry out his orders.

James hurried to the only calm area on the ship, the forecastle. There he pulled out his mirror and the others crowded around.

“Think he’s the one who burnt the other ship?” Scar asked.

“Perhaps,” Miko replied.

“Could be another like us coming to investigate,” offered Shorty.

Jira tugged on her father’s arm. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know, Jira,” he replied. “Now hush.”

The mirror sprang to life and an aerial view of the oncoming ship came into focus. It was a three-masted frigate and packed with armed men. Most were dressed as regular seaman without rhyme or reason, but one man stood apart. Standing head and shoulders above the rest, he wore a white uniform with gold trim. On the left breast of his white jacket was embroidered a golden starburst.

“The Captain?”

James glanced to Kip and nodded. “Most likely.” Then to Azhan, he asked, “To which Warlord does he owe allegiance?”

“I believe Warlord Halim lays claim to these waters,” his apprentice replied. “But that is not his emblem. I have never before seen one depicting a golden starburst.”

A glance to Hikai received a shake of his head and shrug of shoulders.

“They don’t look peaceful,” observed Father Vickor.

“No,” James agreed, “they don’t.”

Canceling the image, he made his way back to Captain Anyn.

Shouting orders to alter course away from the oncoming ship, he glanced with annoyance at James’ approach.

“Who is that, Captain?”

“Damned if I know,” the captain replied. “And I’m not waiting for them to catch us to find out. Hop to it, lads. Full sails!” Then to James, “Keep your people out of the way.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Moving back to the forecastle, James went to the rail and looked back along the side of the ship to the one heading for them.

“It means to catch us,” Jiron said.

“Looks like it.”

Once again taking out his mirror, he brought the ship into focus.

Men were in rigid formation on the deck. Sails were full and fully extended by the wind. A glance to the sails of Captain Anyn showed them to not have caught the wind as fully. That, coupled with the fact that the other ship had more sails seemed to indicate that it catching them was a foregone conclusion.

“Azhan.”

“Yes, Master?”

Looking up at his apprentice, James asked, “Are you as good with wind as you are with earth?”

A grin came over the young apprentice. “Almost.”

“Then fill those sails and keep them filled.”

With poorly restrained jubilation, Azhan said, “Yes, Master!”

Hikai looked hopeful to be told to take part, but James shook his head. “Not now. Aid Azhan should he require it.”

“Yes, Master.”

Then James waved the two youngest to him. “Jira, Kip.”

As the two came to stand before him, he said, “Watch the sky for anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Jira asked, confused.

Kip nodded. “I understand.” He took her by the hand and moved off a bit where he whispered to her. Her eyes widened as they turned and looked to the sky.

Azhan quietly spoke the words of the spell and timbers groaned as the wind increased tenfold and sails stretched to their utmost. A cheer went up from the crew as the ship leapt forward.

“What are you up to?”

James turned to Miko as he once again pulled out his mirror. “If we can keep our distance until dark, we stand a better chance of losing them.” Concentrating, he brought the ship into view.

The other captain strode to the bow of his ship. That he shouted to his men was apparent; what was unknown. Not for the first time James wished this came with sound. He once tried to do far-viewing with sound but the magical draw to do so had been incredible so hadn’t pursued it. Now he wished he had.

At the bow was a raised section covered by a tarp. The captain shouted more orders and two sailors carefully removed the tarp. James gasped at what was revealed.

Atop a three foot tripod sat an object roughly oblong in shape. The end facing the ship’s bow was rounded and looked to have a foot and a half diameter. Its body tapered for four feet until reaching its six-inch wide, convex end. It wasn’t the fact that the object appeared to be made entirely of gold that had made him gasp, nor its artistically inlaid filigree and engravings; nor even the starburst on the larger of the two ends that was a match to the one upon the captain’s uniform. No, it was the fact that spaced evenly around the middle of the object were set three rings of four glowing crystals. Magic!

“What in the name of the gods is that?” Scar exclaimed.

Had it been metal with a hollow bore, James would have called it a small cannon.

“It’s magic,” he replied as he tapped the image where the crystals glowed. “Someone has learned to harness the power of crystals.” Then he glanced to Miko.

“Can you handle that?” Miko asked.

James shrugged. “I haven’t a clue what its purpose is or how its power will manifest.” He then thought back to the charred area on the derelict ship. Circular, burnt, no apparent agent used for combustion… A heat ray? “Possibly. But one thing is for certain,” he said as he turned his gaze toward the other ship, “we’ll never outrun them; not if they have a mage.”

“Azhan.”

“Yes, Master?”

“Kill the wind.”

“Going to let them catch us?” Jiron asked.

James nodded. “Yes I am.”

Sailors cursed as the wind died and sails stretched to their limits slackened. Captain Anyn hollered and his men hopped to it, adjusted rigging and sail length to take advantage of what wind remained.

The enemy ship gained quickly upon them.

In the mirror, a new man had joined the captain by the magical device. He was dressed in a simple, hooded robe of brown homespun cloth. A yellow strip of cloth cinched it closed about the man’s waist. The hood was thrown back and a thin tonsure donned the man’s scalp. On the left breast of the man’s robe, lay a circle of white within which had been embroidered a miniature to the starburst engraved upon the magical artifact and a match to the one on the captain’s uniform.

“That is a priest,” Miko announced.

James nodded. “So, not a mage but a priest.”

“Does this change anything?”

Glancing to Jiron, James shook his head. “I don’t think so. They still mean to catch us for reasons unknown. That, and the fact that their ship is overflowing with soldiers does not bode well for a simple request to join them for tea.”

His gaze roved from one to the next of those gathered around him as he asked, “Does anyone recognize that starburst symbol?” In answer he received several shakes of heads and a couple “no’s.”

“I would think it holds great importance to them,” Miko said.

James returned his attention to the mirror. “So do I.”

The robed man absentmindedly scratched his tonsure as he gazed at an object resting upon the palm of his hand. It was crystal in nature, cut into the form of a miniature dove. James increased the magnification until the dove filled the mirror.

Running through the center of the dove glowed a ribbon of yellowish light. The man’s fingers turned the dove sculpture ninety degrees to the right and then let go. Slowly, it rotated until the dove’s head returned to its former position.

Zooming out, James realized the dove faced their ship. He glanced to Miko. “We’re being tracked.”

Scar laughed. “I don’t think they will be happy should they catch us.”

“If their intention is less than friendly,” James replied, “no, they won’t.”

“We have to assume that is the case,” Jiron stated.

“I’ve already come to that assumption.” Standing, James let go the magic and slipped his mirror back into his pack. He turned to his apprentices.

“You boys ready?”

Eager to show their worth, Azhan and Hikai nodded vigorously.

“Azhan,” he said then pointed up to the rigging. “Steal the wind from the sails.”

“Hikai.”

“Yes, Master?”

“Gather clouds to us. Prepare to rain lightning down upon them.”

The young mage grinned and nodded.

“Are you proficient at having the lightning strike where you wish?”

“More often than not,” Hikai replied with pride.

“Then target their magical device and the area surrounding it.”

“Yes, Master.”

“But,” he said with great emphasis, “do nothing until I give the command.”

He bobbed his head. “Yes, Master.”

Above, the sails grew slack as Azhan stole their wind.

Sailors cursed, Captain Anyn spat vitriol at the gods for their ill fortune as the ship came to a halt. Men came down from the rigging and took arms. Every man watched the oncoming ship.

A clap of thunder drew their attention to the north where a bank of dark clouds rolled in toward them. Sailors grew fretful and more than one offered prayers against the unnaturalness of such a quickly moving storm front.

“I do not think our efforts will go unnoticed by those approaching,” Miko observed.

“Can’t be helped.”

Captain Anyn eyed them from where he stood back by the helmsman.

James met and held his gaze until the captain turned away.

By this time the other ship had grown close enough to see those on board. The captain stood at the rail to the right of the magical contraption while the robed man stood directly behind it.

“Are they going to plunder us?” Kip asked.

James didn’t answer; the vision of the derelict ship and her dead kept replaying through his mind.

“We’ll know soon enough,” Father Vickor replied.

As the ship came abreast, the robed man swiveled the magical contraption so its large end continued pointing toward their ship. Then the ship drifted to a halt.

“Good day,” Captain Anyn hollered across to them.

“And a good day to you, Captain,” the other captain replied. His accent was heavy and unfamiliar.

“Something we can help you with?”

“We seek the minions of the Unclean One,” the captain replied.

“Unclean One?”

“He who would bring ruination upon this world.”

“We are but peaceful merchants,” Captain Anyn said. “We seek no one’s ruination.”

“Alas, his guile is without peer. They are among you. Hand them over and you shall be spared. Fail to do so and…”

The tonsured man laid both hands alongside the magical device; his lips moved silently. A yellow glow sprang to life and surrounded the man.

“Priest,” Miko said just as the crystals on the device flared and a golden beam shot forward.

Men dove out of the way but it was over before they even began. Smoke rose from a section of wall on the raised area at the stern where the beam struck. It was an exact match of the area discovered on the derelict.

“I think we now know…,” began Jiron but stopped upon seeing a look most unfamiliar in his friend’s eye. On many others he had seen that look, but for James to exhibit it proved somewhat unsettling.

Rage consumed him.

Smoke rose to the sky. Fires burned everywhere. The clearing that housed his workshop was littered with burning debris, branches, bushes, even whole trunks that still smoldered. He turned his gaze toward where the path emerged from the forest. There he saw a yellow glow, similar in aspect to the protective shield he had utilized on more than one occasion. Within the glow walked a man.

“James? Jiron asked.

The mage stopped ten yards from the trees and stood waiting for him. The yellow protective shield had been deactivated. Now, only a yellow glow emanated from the mage’s left hand. Something clutched therein inexplicably drew James’ gaze.

Understanding came. Not a mage…a priest!

“James,” Miko said as he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“He..,.” James began but the rage threatening to consume him made it difficult to speak. All he wanted was to destroy that priest and vent his pent-up frustration and fear for his family.

The tonsured one’s gaze moved from Captain Anyn to him.

“The priest’s glow is the same as the one who attacked my island.”

Every eye turned to the priest.

“He the same one that led the attack?” Jiron asked.

The face of the man that invaded his island was indelibly etched into his memory. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was an older man.”

Scar spat. “But this one should know who it was.”

“We need to take him alive,” Jiron said.

Pragmatism won out over vengeance

The priest laid hands on the magical device and swiveled it on its base so it aimed toward James. A second later, the crystals upon the device flared and James reacted instinctively. A barrier sprang to life between them and deflected the beam.

“Hikai,” James said.

“Yes, Master.”

“Change of plans. Target the masts.”

“As you wish, Master.”

The first strike slammed into the main mast. Timber blasted apart and rigging burst into flame. Those standing nearest the base were thrown back. Over a dozen didn’t move again.

A second beam shot for him and James easily deflected it. About to attack in return, he saw a flight of arrows launched into the air.

“Azhan!” he yelled then deflected yet another blast from the magical device.

“On it, Master.”

At the apex of their arc, a gust of wind knocked them off course to strike harmlessly into the water.

“Next time,” Scar said to the young mage, “send them back to their owners.”

Captain Anyn raced toward them with several sailors in tow. “What are you doing?”

Jiron, Scar and the other pit fighters drew their weapons and created a barrier between the sailors and James.

“Protecting your ship, Captain,” Jiron said.

“I demand you stop this immediately!”

Scar laughed. “I don’t think so.” Then he sobered as he raised his sword. “Stay back, or die.”

One sailor armed with a short sword rushed forward. A single pass of arms left him falling to the deck, blood gushing from a gaping wound where Tinok’s knife had been but a moment before.

White light sprang to life as Father Vickor leapt forward and caught the sailor before he could hit the deck. Morcyth’s glow flowed from Father Vickor to the injured man.

Several of the sailors gasped upon seeing the glow.

“These are not our enemies,” cautioned Miko. He turned to Tinok. “Death is not their due.”

The pit fighter met the high priest gaze without flinching and without remorse. Only when Hikai’s lightning slammed into the other masts, splintering them and killing more sailors did they look away.

“Will he live?” Kip asked from where he knelt next to Father Vickor.

Though in deep concentration, the priest turned to the novice and nodded. “Yes, Kip. Now leave me to my work.”

Attacks from the magical device came one after the other. James had little difficulty in deflecting them. Summoning magic, he envisioned the magical device blasting apart, then released it.

A sphere of magic sprang to life surrounding the mage and the device, blocking the attack.

Another volley of arrows arced toward their ship and as Scar suggested, Azhan grabbed hold of them with magic and sent them back to their owners. Men cried as arrowheads pierced flesh.

James tested the priest’s defenses, discovered the reach of the protective shield. Then he created his own spherical shield, one that completely enveloped the shield protecting the priest and his device.

“Azhan, Hikai,” he hollered. “Here’s a lesson, boys.”

Two shields now glowed upon the deck of the enemy ship, one inside the other. One keeping magic out, the other keeping magic in. James subtly altered the aspect of his shield and could feel deck planks part where they intersected it.

Then while maintaining the sphere, he created a secondary spell and his apprentices gasped in awe as the sphere with priest and magical device, rose from the ship’s deck. He glanced to Azhan. “Sink it. Leave none alive.”

Grinning, his apprentice slapped Hikai on the back. “Ready to have a little fun?”

“This is for Sami.”

The vision of the young mage’s dead body on the derelict ship quickly sobered Azhan. He nodded. “For Sami.”

James didn’t pay his two apprentices any further attention despite the cries of men and splintering of wood as the two young mages made short work of the other ship. No, his attention was on the sphere containing the priest and his magical device.

Captain Anyn stood aghast as the other ship was sundered and lightning struck water full of sailors. When a final crack split it from keel to stern and the ship sank beneath the waves, he turned to James, “Who are you?”

James kept focused on the sphere containing the priest until it came to rest upon the deck not far from him. Then with eyes never leaving the priest, he said, “I, am The Dark Mage.”

Chapter Forty-Two

The priest made no indication he recognized the name, his attention was drawn to where Father Vickor worked to save the life of the fallen sailor. Captain Anyn on the other hand, went pale and took two steps back.

“What…” the captain began then licked his lips. “What do you mean to do?”

“To you and your men?” James replied. “Nothing, Get underway and let’s get out of here before any of his friends show up.”

The captain bobbed his head and shouted orders to his men. Sailors climbed the rigging, sails were lowered, and the ship got underway.

“Azhan, bring the wind if you would.”

“Yes, Master.”

The sails filled and the ship flew across the water.

His two apprentices stood nearby, looking anxiously at him.

“You did well.”

They grinned.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Yes,” said Azhan. “We thank you.”

Miko came to stand beside him. Gesturing to the priest in the shimmering sphere, he asked, “What do you plan to do with him?”

“Get some answers.” He glanced to the two Pit Masters. “Ready your darts.”

Scar held up his hand and showed the one already prepared. “Way ahead of you.”

The enemy priest remained at the device, his hands gripped firmly upon it. Eyes moved from Father Vickor to James and back again, he finally settled upon James. The gaze he shot him would have killed him in his tracks if such were possible.

James stepped toward the sphere-trapped priest.

“Who are you?”

“The bane of all who serve the Unclean One.”

“I serve no one but myself,” James replied.

The priest looked unconvinced.

“Do you know me?”

“Yes, you are an usurper, a perverter of all that is good and holy. One who seeks to defy the laws set forth by the one most high.”

Miko joined James before the priest. “What god do you follow?”

“He who would bring light and goodness to the world. He who battles against all that is evil. He who would balm all hurts. He that is supreme in the heavens.”

Scar nudged Potbelly, “He that is way too full of himself.”

Righteous anger overcame the priest and in a flash, he swiveled the magical device toward Scar.

“Don’t!” James cried.

The crystals flared and the beam shot forth. It hit the inside of James’ shield and ricocheted back, striking the priest. The man’s painful cry was cut short as he burst into flames.

James dropped the sphere and Miko rushed forward with glow ablaze. He enveloped the man with the power of Morcyth as he knelt beside him and the flames vanished.

The smell of burnt hair and flesh was strong as the others gathered close. Most of the priest’s chest was gone and several of the ribs poked through.

Sighing, Miko released the glow and stood. “He is gone.”

Furious, James rounded on Scar. “We needed to question him!”

“How was I to know he would be so touchy?”

“There will be others.”

Turning to Miko, James asked, “What?”

“I said,” Miko replied patiently, “there will be others.” Gesturing to the smoldering remains of the priest, he added, “It is hardly conceivable that he is alone. He had to come from somewhere.”

Slowly, James nodded. “You’re right.”

Pulling out his mirror, he searched the surrounding ocean for signs of other ships. Three, identical to the one the priest had been on, were sighted coming from the south-southeast. Zooming in revealed that they, too, carried a tarp-covered object at the bow that James was certain hid another of the magical fire-beam devices.

“We can take ‘em,” Azhan said with utter surety.

“No doubt,” agreed Jiron. He eyed James, “Do you plan to?”

He zoomed out and continued his search. “If we must. But a single ship would be better.”

Scar glanced to the mirror, then out to the ocean. “Which way were those ships?”

James pointed to the south-southeast. “That way.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Unsure what his friend was getting at at first, understanding dawned on Potbelly when he realized James’ arm aligned with the keel of the ship. The enemy ships were dead ahead. And if that were so, they had to be coming from the general vicinity of…

He turned a worried look to Scar who nodded. “Exactly. Corillian.”

The enemy ships vanished from view as James hurriedly altered the spell to bring Meliana into view. The mirror went black.

“What happened?” Jiron demanded.

The black was not absolute as indistinct shadows could barely been seen with the greater darkness.

“I don’t know…,” James began, then a sliver of light appeared as a door was opened.

Kendrick, Meliana’s father, stood at the door, peering through to the other side. One hand was held up as if to demand silence; the other held a sword. Several moments he stood there, eye pressed against the opening then he thrust open the door and waved for the others to follow.

Five men whom James recognized as sailors and two of Kendrick’s merchant captains followed him out. Each carried a weapon; three held the sailors’ preferred short sword, one a stout cudgel and the rest carried crossbows. After them came over a dozen civilians including Meliana, Kenny, and Aleya.

Rushing out onto the street, they followed Kendrick through a mob of terrified citizens. He thrust them aside, making a path through for the others could follow. If people did not get out of the way fast enough, they got an elbow. Any that argued got a fist, but move they did.

Meliana clutched a small bag, as did all but a few of those who followed Kendrick. Fear was clearly evident upon her face.

Aleya had her bow slung across her back along with a quiver of arrows. Where Meliana wore fear, she looked nothing but determined.

“What is going on?” Shorty asked.

They passed a familiar eatery, one that Meliana had taken him to many times. “They’re heading for the docks.”

“Fleeing?”

James glanced up to Miko and spat, “Yes.” The anger he felt before was a candle to the inferno that filled him now.

“Is the island under attack?” Tinok asked.

Though he was loath to abandon Meliana, James expanded the image.

Warships of Warlord Azkimal were locked in battle with the enemy off the coast of Corillian. Several were aflame and others were in the midst of either boarding the enemy, or exchanging arrow fire. Beams of yellowish light were hitting those that had yet to engage. Masts exploded upon impact and sails burst into flame.

It didn’t look good for Azkimal’s men; enemy ships outnumbered theirs three to one.

“Who are they?” came the question, but so engrossed in the scene unfolding on Corillian that James didn’t even register who spoke.

“More importantly,” added Father Keller, “where did they come from? They wear no uniforms I ever saw before.”

Scrolling north along the coast they saw where enemy ships sat docked at Port May, one of the larger merchant cities midway along the eastern shore of the island. Smoke rose from the city and fighting raged in the streets.

James turned a worried look to Jiron. “It’s an invasion.”

The knifer nodded. “The attack on your island but a prelude to this.”

A little hand gripped James’ shoulder. “Where’s Mother?”

“She’s escaping with Meliana and Kenny,” he replied. “I’ll find her.” The scene left Port May and returned to Corillion’s packed and frantic dockside. It took a moment but they soon located Kendrick and the others at the base of a gangplank leading up to his flagship, Melia’s Dream, named after his late wife and Meliana’s mother.

Kendrick and the sailors held the panicked mob back at the tip of their swords as the rest boarded, then he followed with the sailors coming right behind. Corillian’s citizenry flooded onto the gangplank afterward.

“He better control that,” commented Scar as more people surged toward the ship. Jostling began and people were shoved off into the water below by those behind.

Potbelly nodded. “Fear and desperation can make a man do things he wouldn’t ordinarily do.”

James remembered the fall of the City of Light and the ship that was destroyed by a panicked mob seeking to escape the city before the Empire occupied it.

Half a dozen sailors with cudgels raced forward and after letting two families board, controlled the situation with numerous blows.

Kendrick shouted to his men and they flew into the rigging; sails were lowered, mooring lines were severed and they began pulling away.

Seeing the ship begin to depart and leave them behind, the mob surged forward, many leaping across the widening gap between ship and dock to grab hold of the rail. A very few were pulled on board, the rest had fingers and heads smashed to remove them.

“They made it,” Shorty said breathing a sigh of relief.

“Not yet,” argued Father Keller.

James scrolled out from the island and widened the view. Ships were still locked in battle. The number of Warlord Azkimal’s ships had been reduced dramatically. Four of the enemy were now heading unopposed toward Corillian’s dock.

Melia’s Dream turned northward to angle along the coastline in an attempt to avoid the oncoming ships.

“Sails ho!”

James looked up from the mirror. Three ships appeared on the horizon directly in their path.

“They’re the ones you saw earlier,” Jiron said.

“Hard to port!” ordered Captain Anyn. He glanced worriedly to James and received a nod.

The three ships altered course to intercept.

James returned his gaze to the mirror and saw that one of the four ships heading to Corillian had broken off to follow Kendrick’s.

“Damn!”

“Master,” Azhan said, “we stand ready.”

Hikai nodded vigorously.

Meliana had taken Kenny into her father’s cabin. Aleya on the other hand, stood at the stern with bow at the ready, waiting for the ship to come into range.

“Kendrick’s a good man,” Jiron said. “He’ll get them through.”

He watched the scene unfolding in the mirror. It was difficult to judge whether or not the enemy ship was gaining.

A yellow beam struck the forecastle near where they gathered around the mirror. Wisps of smoke rose and the smell of char filled the air.

“Master!”

James was unable to tear his gaze away from his family and the enemy ship in pursuit. If he was there, their escape would not even be in question. But without him they didn’t stand a chance. All that they had to protect them was the seamanship of Kendrick and his sailors. He feared that would not be enough.

Another beam struck a sail high in the rigging. Sailors scrambled and it was quickly put out but by the time the flames died, over half the sail was gone.

“Come on,” Jiron said as he slapped his friend’s shoulder. “We need to take care of this before we lose any more sails.”

“Yes, we do,” James replied with much vehemence, emotion punctuating each word. A large shield sprang up between their ship and the enemy. Another beam of yellow power struck the shield only to be deflected into the sea.

Standing, he slipped the mirror into his pocket then pulled three slugs from his slug belt. Gathering magic, he concentrated on each in turn, infusing them with his anger and his need for vengeance…How dare they attack his family! Once done, he went to the rail at the stern.

“How can we help, Master?”

He turned to Azhan. “Keep the sails full. This will be over shortly.”

One at a time, he took the slugs and with each, gave the wooden railing a single tap. Then with a spell to speed them on their way, threw them toward the ships.

“What’s that supposed to do?”

James turned a grim expression upon Hikai. “Wait, and watch.”

Magic guided and propelled the slugs. He kept the spell guiding them active until the slugs reached a point where he knew they would not go astray. Then gave them one last boost to guide them before releasing the spells. Having them fall devoid of active magic, he hoped they would not trigger any latent magical defenses the ships may have in play.

In his mind’s eye, he saw that the men on those ships remained oblivious of the slugs’ approach. Each slug fell toward a different ship. The first to reach its target struck a soldier in the helm then ricocheted off onto the shoulder of another before falling to the deck. Contact with the wooden planking triggered the embedded spells.

A simple leech spell drained magic from those nearest to it and men fell. The magic drawn by the first spell triggered a second series of leach spells and men fell in ever widening swaths. Once sufficient magic accumulated, the final spell triggered.

First one ship, then the other two exploded in blinding fireballs.

Azhan watched with mouth agape. “By the gods!” He turned to James. “Master…,” he began.

James held up his hand to forestall what he was sure would be a question he had no intention of answering, then turned to Captain Anyn. “Captain,” he said, “make for Corillian with all speed.”

There was genuine fear in his eyes as he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“How long?”

“If this wind holds…”

“And it will,” Azhan cut in.

The captain glanced to him, the sails, then back to James. He was visibly uneasy with being in their company. “By nightfall.”

“See that we do.”

“Yes, sir.” He got his sailors busy working on replacing the ruined sail with another from the ship’s hold.

James pulled forth his mirror and checked the debris for signs of life. Burnt bodies and body parts intermixed with the ships’ charred and splintered remains. Nothing moved. A slight twinge to his conscious surfaced for a moment before anger and fear for his loved ones pushed it back down. With a thought, he altered the spell and the mirror showed Melia’s Dream.

Jiron sighed in relief. “They haven’t caught her.”

“Not yet,” James replied.

Kendrick was at the helm and it looked as if they sailed northward; the coastline was on the westward side of the ship. Smoke rose from no less than three places, indications that the enemy had attempted to halt them by using their magical device. As they watched, another beam struck the rear sail confirming their suspicions.

“Damn!” cursed Jiron as the sail burst into flame.

Jira stood with them, silent and scared.

“They’ll never outrun them now,” Scar said.

Kendrick shouted and men flew into the rigging. Knives flashed as ropes were severed and the burning sail fell free. Men on the deck below armed with water-filled buckets quickly put it out.

Motion at the very top of the mirror drew James’ attention. He scrolled the image that way and saw a dozen warships of Warlord Azkimal heading for the fray.

“Yes!” he said under his breath.

Kendrick saw them a moment later and altered course to intercept.

A second beam struck their mainsail midway to the crow’s nest. As the canvas ignited, the sailor stationed in the crow’s nest scrambled from his perch and slid down a nearby rope. By the time the flames had subsided, over half the sail had been consumed.

One more beam of magic struck the side of the Melia’s Dream before the enemy ship became aware of the reinforcements bearing down on it. Turning, it made all speed to rejoin its brethren.

James sighed in relief when Kendrick’s ship finally passed between Warlord Azkimal’s and to the safety beyond.

“It isn’t over yet,” warned Jiron.

“I know,” he replied. “At least for the moment, they are safe.”

“Safe, but crippled.”

James nodded.

Panning back, he scrolled to the waters north of Kendrick’s position. Other than a multitude of private ships fleeing the combat zone and a second armada of warships making for the enemy, the way was clear.

Returning to Melia’s Dream, they found the hole in the mainsail had been patched with a smaller sail.

“I doubt that will last in rough seas,” commented Father Keller.

A city appeared on the shoreline to the north and Kendrick had altered course to make for it.

“Tearlan,” James announced. “He’s making for Tearlan.”

Tearlan was a trading city of modest size with a dock capable of handling no more than ten ships at any one time. Only two were currently at anchor. Armed men kept an area in front of two warehouses clear as sailors and porters worked in a frenzied rush to transfer cargo to the ships. Several motionless forms lying at their feet indicated they had utilized strong measures to keep it so.

“Is he crazy?

James glanced to Scar.

“They’ll mob him.”

“I don’t think he has a choice,” James replied. “They need a new mainsail.”

Jiron nodded. “That patch-job won’t last very long if a serious gale were to develop.”

“But,” added Potbelly, “Port May is just on the other side of the island. And it is swarming with enemy soldiers.”

“I don’t think Kendrick realizes that,” James said.

Scrolling the view westward across the island, hundreds of panicked people appeared as they fled the carnage at Port May. Not far behind came three hundred soldiers marching in tight ranks. At the head of the soldiers’ columns, horses pulled four flatbed wagons, upon each rode a tonsured man and a magical device identical to that which were on the ships. The devices were secured to a raised platform that placed it just above the level of the horses’ heads to allow them to fire forward without fear of hitting the horses.

“They mean business,” commented Potbelly.

“Yes, but where do they come from?” Scar spat.

James turned to Scar. “Get the captain.”

The Pit Master nodded and grabbed Potbelly. Together they went to where the captain knelt by the fallen sailor Father Vickor still worked to save.

In the mirror, Melia’s Dream drew ever closer to Tearlan. Kendrick gazed at the maelstrom of humanity that churned on the docks through a spyglass. James prayed he would reconsider and veer off. Necessity must have overcame good sense for he kept their heading. As they drew closer, hundreds of people swarmed along the dock toward them waving and shouting for them to dock and save them.

“Come on, don’t do it.” James murmured, “It’s way too risky.”

As Kendrick slowed the ship, it soon became clear that the dock was not his destination. He came up alongside the nearest, moored ship. The other captain came to the rail and after a brief discussion during which Kendrick gestured repeatedly to his ruined mainsail, lines were tossed and Melia’s Dream was secured to the other.

A cry went up from the townsfolk when it became clear that Kendrick had no intentions of rescue.

Seven of Kendrick’s men hopped over the rail to the other ship and rushed into the larger of the two warehouses. They emerged a short time later with a large rolled-up sail.

“Here he is,” Scar said and nudged a reluctant Captain Anyn forward.

“Uh, how may I be of service?”

James waved him forward and held up his mirror. The captain’s eyes widened as he saw the situation unfold upon the docks of Tearlan.

“Corillian has fallen,” James explained, “as has Port May. Tearlan is next.” The scene shifted to ships locked in battle. “Warlord Azkimal is putting up a good fight,” a beam of golden light bored a hole through the side of one of the warlord’s ships, “but as you can see, it is in vain. The enemy is much too powerful for him to prevail.

“We’ve encountered ships in this area so it is safe to assume that their intentions entail far more than simply taking over a few island cities.”

The captain nodded.

“Do you have any idea who they are?”

The captain shook his head, “No. The cut of their ships is different than anything that sails these waters.”

One of the captain’s crew stepped forward. “Might they be the Farlanders, Captain?”

“Bah,” Captain Anyn replied dismissively, “they are but a legend.”

“Legend?” queried James. He eyed the captain.

“It’s an old seaman tale like women who swim under the waves and giant leviathans that swallow ships whole.”

“In light of the mysterious origins of these ships,” Miko interjected, “this legend may have some basis.”

Captain Anyn flashed the sailor an annoyed look, then turned to James. “There isn’t much to the legend other than that far beyond the end of the world, where the sea ends, there lies a land of seafaring people.

“Every now and again, a tale will surface of a ship being sighted far out to sea on the horizon’s edge just as the dawn breaks only to vanish once the sun rises free of the water. Superstitious nonsense if you ask me.”

James eyed the captain and the sailor. “Is that all?”

They both nodded.

“Scar,” James said, “you and Potbelly question the other sailors and see if any knows something more.”

“Think this could be them?”

He turned to Jiron. “It’s likely. Ships different than those in commission here; sailors and priests bearing an insignia no one recognizes; and a magical device that is unlike anything else we know… A far away land looks to be the most likely probability. If any of this had been developed anywhere near here, someone would have gotten wind of it before now. Distance is the only answer for such secrecy.”

“Smoke!” came the cry from the Crow’s Nest.

“Where away?”

Before the sailor could answer, the black plume appeared off the port side and some distance ahead. The ship had been one of Warlord Halim’s from the looks of her. It listed badly and there was not a sign of life either on the ship or in the water.

“Looks like they got another,” murmured Shorty.

“They’ll have a lot more before they are through I’d wager,” Scar replied.

Potbelly watched the smoke rise and asked, “Through with what?”

“Don’t care right now,” James replied. “All that matters is reaching our families and ensuring their safety.”

“And taking out anyone that stands in our way.”

James turned to Jiron and saw the grim set of his eyes. “Agreed.”

Chapter Forty-Three

“He’ll live,” Father Vickor announced as he rejoined the others.

“That is good news,” Miko replied.

Captain Anyn and another sailor helped the one that Tinok had nearly slain to the crew quarters.

Scar and Potbelly approached.

“No one knows anything more about the Farlanders,” Scar said.

James nodded from where he sat cross-legged looking into his mirror. The Melia’s Dream now had their newly acquired mainsail in place and was making good time. Four other ships had joined Kendrick in his bid for freedom. Three were merchantmen while the fourth was a small private yacht fairly bursting at the seams with people.

The enemy had completely wiped out Warlord Azkimal’s ships and now held complete mastery of the waters surrounding Corillian and the island’s southern half.

To the west, Warlord Halim’s navy still fought but were quickly being overwhelmed. It wouldn’t be long until all opposition had been dealt with.

“He’s making for the top of the island,” James announced.

“Hoping to get to Cardri I’d imagine,” Jiron said.

Per James’ instructions, Captain Anyn had altered course to intercept the Melia’s Dream after it makes the turn at the island’s tip in the vicinity of the Isle of Carut. They were still a couple hours away.

After taking another scan of the area between where Kendrick and the others were and the Isle of Carut to ensure there were no enemy ships in the vicinity, James checked the water from the Isle to him. Not finding any, he gave a relieved sigh and canceled the magic.

“Almost there.”

Jira gave her uncle a hug. “Mother’s going to be so happy.”

“Or mad,” Scar jested. “Never know with a woman.”

Potbelly laughed. “You got that right. Remember that time over in Karnellian? We saved that wench from the soul sucking lotus demon, as well as reunited her with her long lost twin sister that she never knew she had, and yet she was still mad at us for her having missed tea with her mother.”

“Well,” argued Scar, “we never did really adequately prove that her father was the lotus demon and that was why we had to kill him. She could have been put off a bit because of that.”

“Perhaps.”

James ignored them and gave Jira a hug. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

Getting to his feet, he walked over to where Azhan and Hikai worked to keep the sails full.

“You boys okay?”

“Yes, Master,” Azhan replied. “Hikai is helping.”

James patted his newest apprentice on the shoulder. “Good. It should only be a couple more hours. Will you be able to maintain the winds until them?”

“Not a problem, Master,” Azhan boasted.

He thought that having an apprentice or two might not be a bad thing as he went to see how Father Vickor and Eddra were doing.

Eddra lay bundled beneath many blankets to ward off the chill borne upon the sea air. Father Vickor sat next to her holding her hand. The swelling surrounding the one eye was all but gone. Her other tracked him as he approached.

“How is she doing?”

“Better,” the priest replied. “Her strength is improving and she gains lucidity daily…”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Any idea if she knows anything about the shimmering field?”

Father Vickor shook his head. “I doubt it though all Azhan’s attempts at questioning turned up nothing. I don’t have the feeling that she is anything more than an old woman wrongfully accused of being ill-favored.”

James knelt before her and patted the back of her hand. In a soft, kindly voice he said, “Do not worry, we will see that you are well taken cared of.”

He doubted she understood what he said, but her face lit up ever so slightly and the corners of her mouth rose almost imperceptibly.

Patting her hand once more, he smiled reassuringly, then stood. To Father Vickor he said, “Let me know if anything changes or if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Jiron stood at the rail with his daughter. They stared eastward to the horizon, vainly hoping to see sails bringing their loved one closer.

“Will still be a couple hours,” James said as he joined them.

“I know,” Jiron said.

“Mother is fine, isn’t she Uncle?” Jira asked.

“She is,” he assured her. “I am sure she will be even more so when you are once again with her.”

Jira grinned. “I can’t wait.”

James turned his gaze to the far horizon ahead of them. “I can’t either, Jira. I can’t either.”

The following hours passed agonizingly slow. His mirror showed that Kendrick kept on course and finally turned due west at the top of the island. Ever worried for their safety, James scrolled the image in search of enemy ships. The only ones near the island were to the south and unlikely to pose a threat. A few could be but they appeared intent on patrolling rather than hunting for those in flight.

Port May now lay completely under the enemy’s control and the forces heading for Tearlan had arrived. The city’s garrison and watch manned the defenses but once the magical devices came into play, it ended quickly.

“They’re going to have the whole island in a day or two,” Scar commented.

“Looks like it,” agreed James.

Potbelly spat. “Think they will move on the mainland?”

“Most likely. The island would make a good staging area from which to launch an assault.” In the mirror, a lone warship fled before three of the enemy’s ships; golden beams tore it apart. “Especially if they control the seas which it looks very much like they will.”

“Land off the port bow!”

James hurried to the port side and looked ahead. “Must be Za’im.” He turned to Jiron. “It’s a small island famous for its olives.”

“Are we close to mother now?” Jira asked excitedly.

“Less than an hour I would guess,” James replied. He pulled out his mirror and checked.

Kendrick and his ships had passed the Isle of Carut and were now tracking more northwest than west. Two others had joined them.

“Have Captain Anyn turn a few degrees to the north,” James instructed Scar.

“On it,” he replied as he turned and hurried to the rear of the boat where the captain stood with several of his men. In short order, the orders had been given and the ship angled more toward Za’im so as to pass close to its southern shoreline.

Scanning to the south revealed a patchwork of sails scattered throughout the area as merchants and citizens fled in ships of all sizes. Most were heading toward the mainland; the others sailed in every direction from north to west.

Za’im bustled with activity. While not under immediate attack, those living there wasted not a minute in fleeing. Docks were filled with people and ships packed to standing room only headed out to sea. Where the exodus from Port May and Tearlan had been little more than a panicked, out of control mob as likely to sink and destroy those seeking to save them, Za’im remained somewhat orderly. Guards stationed at the docks kept the evacuation on track.

One large merchantman with railings lined with people came alongside.

“Where are they coming from?” their captain shouted to Captain Anyn.

“South,” he replied. “Head west and north.”

The other captain nodded, shouted wishes for speed and luck, then hollered for sails to be lowered as he turned to put the islands behind him.

“Is he right?”

James turned to Shorty.

“Heading west I mean,” the knifer explained.

Shrugging, James said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

In the mirror, he brought their ship into focus, then zoomed outward for a large aerial view of the surrounding waters. It took a few minutes to pinpoint the Melia’s Dream among the rest of the fleeing ships.

“That’s them,” he said, tapping the mirror. Then his finger moved. “And we’re here.” It looked like they were on the right course to intercept them somewhere north of Za’im.

“Not too much longer,” Jiron said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if their sails come into view in the next five or ten minutes.”

Centering the image on the Melia’s Dream, James zoomed in until the ship came into sharp clarity.

“There’s Mother!” Jira exclaimed excitedly.

Aleya stood with Melina and Kenny near the ship’s wheel where Kendrick and another captain stood conferring.

“Shall we let them know we’re coming?” James asked her.

Her eyes got wide. “Can we?”

He glanced to Jiron. “Might be close enough. I’ll see what I can do.”

Gathering magic to him, he concentrated on the ship’s deck near where Kenny played.

“We should make for Lak Tir,” Captain Jehume stated.

Kendrick shook his head. “That is Warlord Halim’s capital city. Any assault on the mainland will surely include that and I will not be trapped while moored. At least on the water we have a chance to escape.”

“Alone, is what we’d be if caught under sail,” Jehume argued. “Lak Tir has a sizeable garrison and strong walls.”

“Bah,” scoffed Kendrick. “You saw what they did to Marik’s ship. Their magic tore through his hull in no time. They’ll do the same to any walls standing in their way.”

Kenny sat cross-legged, idling the time away with a coil of rope pretending it was snake, twisting it so as to turn this way and that. A large bucket, or rather castle, sat upside down before him. Just as the snake was about to attack a giant guarding the gates to the great castle, an orb of yellowish light sprung into being on top of the castle.

It took a second for him to register that what he was seeing was not part of his imaginary play. His eyes grew large for he had seen a similar orb throughout his short life. “Daddy!” he cried.

Meliana turned at his excited cry and gasped when she saw it.

“Father!” she shouted to where he stood by the wheel and stepped forward, kneeling down before the glowing orb. Tears filled her eyes and emotion welled forth. “He’s alive.”

Aleya joined her as did Kendrick and most of those nearby gathered round.

“Look,” Kenny said.

A dark point appeared in the deck. It moved to form letters.

My Love.

A sob broke free as she read his words. “Charcoal,” she exclaimed. “Or ink; something to write with.”

“I feared he was dead.”

Meliana turned to her father with tear-filled eyes and smiled. “I always knew he would return.”

“What does this mean?”

Without taking his eyes from the orb and the words before it, Kendrick said to Captain Jehumes. “It means the Dark Mage is alive.”

“And nearby,” added Meliana. “He could never do this over a long distance.”

“Daddy’s here?” Kenny asked excitedly.

“Yes,” his mother replied.

Word of the Dark Mage’s return spread like wildfire through those on board the Melia’s Dream.

Look west-approaching. Five minutes.

“Tanil,” Kendrick said, turning to his First Mate. “Get eyes aloft.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Orders were shouted and men flew into the rigging.

A sailor appeared with ink and quill.

“Thank you,” Meliana said.

Dipping the quill in the vial of ink, she started writing, “How…,” but then paused and wrote instead, “Jiron, Jira?”

Both with me. Fine.

“Good,” Aleya said. “Would have killed that man if he had died.” Her tone belied her words and she fought back a rising tide of emotion.

“Is he behind these attacks?” demanded Captain Jehumes.

“Certainly not,” replied Kendrick.

“He would not be party to such a thing,” Meliana affirmed.

The captain looked little convinced.

Kendrick hollered to the men in the rigging. “See him yet?”

“Sails are everywhere, Captain,” one sailor replied.

Meliana stood and looked to the west. There were indeed a multitude of sails upon the water. She returned to the deck and took up the quill once again.

“Where? Give sign.”

Look.

She rushed to the rail.

Far out across the water, a massive starburst lit the sky.

“There he is!” she cried.

Kenny squealed in delight.

“Tanil,” Kendrick said, “let’s go get my son-in-law.”

“Think that was a bit much?” Jiron asked with a grin.

James laughed. “Nope.” Summoning magic once again, he created another large burst of light high overhead.

Jira was hopping from one foot to the other in her excitement.

After such an extended period of worry and separation, euphoric giddiness welled forth and would not be denied.

“Master,” Azhan said, stepping forward. “May we?” He glanced to the fading starburst.

“Have at it, boys,” James replied. “Have at it.”

For the next two minutes it was like the Fourth of July. James had to finally halt their exuberant display when those in the Crow’s Nest were inundated by a shower of sparks and the ropes started to smolder.

As the two ships drew closer figures grew to clarity, arms waved and smiles were exchanged. “Bring us alongside,” James told Captain Anyn.

“Aye, Sir.”

“Meliana!” he hollered. “Kenny!”

“Father,” Jira said, bouncing at the rail. “There’s Mother.”

“I see her,” he replied.

Her exuberance diminished slightly at the tone in his voice. She had never heard it before. “Are you okay, Father?”

“Yes,” he said, patting her head. “All is perfect.”

“My Love.” Meliana’s voice reached him from across the water. It made his heart sing with joy.

The next moments were excruciating as they waited for the two ships to come abreast. Lines were tossed from one to the other and they were pulled together. Before the two sides touched, Jiron flung Jira over the narrowing gap to where Aleya waited and then hopped over after.

Once secured, the gangplank was run out between the two ships to facilitate crossing.

Before James crossed, he said quietly to Scar, “Don’t let Captain Anyn leave.”

“He won’t,” the Pit Master replied. “Now get over there.”

James hurried across.

“Oh, Meliana,” he said with a catch in his voice. Their arms wrapped around each other, their lips met, and he felt the wetness of her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I thought you dead,” she whispered.

“You should know that nothing can keep me away from you.”

Kenny grabbed onto his legs. “Daddy.”

He took his son and together the three of them held each other.

“Good to see you again, James.”

He raised his head to see a grinning Kendrick standing behind Meliana. “You as well, Sir.” Unwilling to break the embrace that had been a long time waiting, he let go his son but kept an arm around his love’s waist.

“Reverend Father,” Kendrick said as Miko joined them.

“Any idea what’s going on?”

Meliana’s father shook his head.

“Most of the island is occupied,” James explained. He took out his mirror and brought Kendrick’s manor into view. It remained intact though others in the area had smoke rising from them. Widening the scope revealed enemy troops throughout Corillian. Then he moved to Port May and Tearlan. “I figure they will have it all by nightfall tomorrow.”

He paused, then asked, “Do you know who they are?”

“No. Nor do I know why they attacked.”

“We encountered four of their ships on the way here,” James explained. “They seem to be hunting mages.” He saw a look of profound worry leap to Meliana’s eyes. He patted her hand. “Worry not, those I encountered were no match for me.”

“And that magic weapon they have?” Kendrick asked.

“Powered by crystals,” he explained.

“Like yours, Daddy?”

He looked down at his son. “Yes.”

“It is used by a priest,” Miko added.

Kendrick turned a surprised gaze upon the high priest. “A priest? Whose?”

“That we do not as yet know.”

“They mentioned the ‘Unclean One,’” James said. “Does that name sound familiar?”

Kendrick shook his hood.

Captain Jehumes stepped forward.

“This is a trading partner of ours,” Kendrick explained. “Captain Jehumes, may I have the pleasure of introducing The Dark Mage,” he paused a moment before adding, “my son-in-law.”

“Truly?”

James nodded and extended his hand. “Yes, Captain. I have the honor of having his daughter for my wife.”

Meliana gave him a smile.

“And me, Daddy.”

“And of course, you too,” James said with a laugh.

“What do you plan to do about this?” Captain Jehumes demanded, putting a damper on the joy of being reunited.

“First we must get everyone to safety,” he said, then glanced to Meliana.

She slipped from his arm as she said, “I’m not going anywhere. I lost you once, I won’t lose you again.”

Looking into her eyes, he almost relented for he felt the same. But then Kenny moved into his field of vision. “This is no place for him,” he said. “You know that.”

“He can go with my father,” she insisted.

James shook his head. “I cannot do what may be required for fear of what may happen to you.” Reaching out his arms, he took her in a loving embrace. “This is not easy for me,” he whispered, “but our first priority has to be Kenny’s safety, not how we feel.”

Placing a finger under her chin, he gently raised her head so as to gaze into her eyes. “You must watch over him.”

Maternal instinct warred with desire for a moment before winning out. She sighed, then nodded. “Kenny comes first.”

“But where is safe?” Kendrick asked.

“The mainland?” Captain Jehumes asked.

“I don’t know,” James replied. “Gaining a foothold on the mainland may be their next objective. If so, landing there may prove a bad idea.”

Captain Jehumes harrumphed. “Then where?”

“Farther west,” Miko said. “And north. Possibly all the way to Cardri.”

“That’s no small distance,” the captain argued.

“We can help by filling sails with wind,” James explained. “It won’t take as long as you fear.” To Kendrick he said, “There we can consult Ellinwyrd and see if he knows anything about them.”

Using his mirror once again, he brought the symbol embossed on the front of the magical device he captured into view. “Have you ever seen this before?”

The two captains shook their heads. “No,” Kendrick said.

“It’s on their magic weapons and is an integral part of their uniforms and, I believe, their religion,” he explained. “It has to mean something and Ellinwyrd may know.”

“Master!”

James turned to where Azhan stood with Hikai at the rail of the other ship; each held a bowl.

“Master?” Kendrick asked.

“Long story.”

He and the others moved to the railing. “What is it?”

Azhan pointed to the bowl. “The enemy approaches, Master.”

“The enemy?” he asked confused. “How…?”

Miko chuckled.

James flashed him a questioning look.

“They learn fast,” was all he said.

Hikai absentmindedly let his bowl tilt and water spilled out.

Having seen him use his mirror, they had worked out how to do it. But instead of a mirror, they used the surface of still water in a bowl.

His face hardened. “You used magic without my permission?”

Azhan’s look of triumph faded quickly to be replaced by one of fear. The color drained from his face. Hikai looked to be on the verge of passing out.

“What’s going on?” Meliana asked.

James kept his gaze focused on his apprentice until Azhan bowed his head and said, “Yes, Master.” Without shifting his gaze to Meliana, he said in a quiet aside, “I now have two apprentices.”

“From the Empire?” she asked incredulously.

“So it would seem.”

“It was either that,” Miko explained quietly, “or have them killed. One of the conditions for sparing their lives was that they swore not to use magic unless he specifically gave his permission.”

“Can they be trusted?” Kendrick asked.

“According to Miko,” James replied.

The high priest nodded affirmation.

He waved his two apprentices over to Melia’s Dream.

“Dear, this is Azhan and Hikai, late of Warlord Kazan’s, service,” he said. “Boys, meet my wife.”

Azhan bowed deeply. “A great honor.”

Hikai glanced from her to James uncertain about whether or not consequences for their magic use were imminent or not. He finally decided that he would live for a while longer and bowed silently to Meliana.

“The honor is mine,” she replied somewhat hesitantly. She eyed James uneasily.

“They’ve been worth the trouble,” he told her.

Azhan beamed and Hikai managed to relax a little bit more.

“Now, what’s this about?”

Holding out his water-filled bowl, Azhan said, “Ships of the enemy are moving this way.”

James felt the tell-tale prickling of magic and the surface of the bowl shimmered then revealed a seascape. Five ships sailed in formation; four were identical to those that he encountered before. The fifth was over a third again the size of the others. It boasted a second main mast; and at the fore instead of the single magical device, it had three.

“From the south,” added Hikai,

“How far away?” he asked as he pulled out his mirror.

“I am unsure,” Azhan replied.

Kendrick moved to the railing and turned his spyglass to the south. A myriad of sails fleeing the enemy obscured his view. “Don’t see them.”

Bringing an aerial view of their current position into focus, he scrolled it southward. “I do,” he said when the five ships appeared. “Maybe twenty minutes.”

Meliana gasped and clutched Kenny. “What are we to do?”

To Miko, James said, “Inform Scar that we’ll need to get underway shortly.”

“Got it.”

“Boys, go with him. Keep an eye out for other ships that may be moving to join them.”

“Yes, Master,” Azhan said. He and Hikai then scrambled back over the rails to Captain Anyn’s ship.

He sighed, then turned to Meliana. “Events force us to postpone our reunion.”

Her arms wrapped around him and her kiss was moist with tears. “I know. At least I know you are alive.”

“Is Daddy leaving again?” Kenny asked.

“Yes, Grandson,” Kendrick said. “He must do what only he can.”

James turned to his father-in-law. “Take everyone to safety. Hug the coast and we’ll draw them off.”

“Are you sure they will follow you?” Captain Jehumes demanded.

“Absolutely.”

Captain Anyn was less than thrilled with the prospect of his ship entering the fray while the others fled to safety. But with mages and men of questionable stability on his ship, not to mention Scar’s threat of possible life-ending, or at the very least pain-filled repercussions if he failed to provide the Dark Mage with his best effort, realized he had little choice.

Once relaying James’ message to Scar, Miko found that Father Keller had Eddra all ready to cross over and join those leaving with Kendrick.

“A ship heading to battle is no place for one such as she,” he said as Miko joined them.

“I agree. Remain with her.”

Father Vickor nodded.

He and Father Vickor helped the aged woman across the deck to the gangplank. Several sailors waited to assist in her crossing.

As they neared where the gangplank began, uneasiness settled over Miko.

“Easy,” Father Keller said she stepped upon the gangplank.

Shorty stood on the gangplank and held out his hand. She took it with a smile.

The sky darkened and Miko found it hard to breathe. When Eddra stood upon the gangplank with Shorty and Father Vickor, uneasiness gave way to dread.

The gangplank was not wide enough to allow two people to walk side by side, so Father Keller followed behind her closely, holding onto her waist. She shuffled slowly across the space between ships.

Every step she took only deepened the ominous felling of impending doom. His heart raced, perspiration beaded his forehead; a single drop coursed down his temple soon followed by a second.

She stumbled midway across but Shorty quickly stepped forward and added his arm to those supporting her.

“Easy does it,” Father Keller advised.

Time slowed as she neared the end of the gangplank. Visions of horror plagued him; stillborn babes …storms laying waste to the countryside…pestilence…streets lined with rotting corpses…death and destruction on an unimaginable scale…

Eddra reached the end of the gangplank.

Certainty came that should she reach the Melia’s Dream, all would come to pass.

Returning to the here and now, he strode forward. “Wait!”

Father Keller paused and turned back toward him.

“She must remain with us,” Miko warned.

“But that would be unwise,” his priest argued.

“I…,” he paused, “do not believe so.”

“But, Reverend Father,” Father Vickor said, “we go to battle.”

“And she must accompany us. Morcyth wills it so.”

James came to him. “What is it?”

Already the visions faded leaving only a feeling that she must not be allowed to cross over. “It would be best if she remained in our company for now.” To Father Keller, he said, “Bring her back and ensure her comfort.”

Father Keller glanced uncertainly to Father Vickor, then to Miko. “As you wish, Reverend Father.”

They brought her back and returned her to her spot near the forecastle

Miko turned to James and could see questions burning to get out. “You must trust me on this.”

Searching his eyes for a moment, James nodded. “I always do.”

Scar joined them. “Shall we get underway?”

James’ gaze lingered on Miko for a moment longer before he nodded. “Yes.”

Scar signaled Captain Anyn.

“Cast off the lines,” Captain Anyn barked. Sailors on both ships untied the ropes securing them together and tossed them to their counterparts on the other ship.

Jiron was the last to leave Melia’s Dream. His argument with Aleya about her remaining with those fleeing had been much more heated than James and Meliana’s. But like Meliana, her maternal protective instinct prevailed. Jira came first.

One final hug, a passionate kiss that promised more later, and then he leapt across the rails not bothering with the gangplank.

The scamp in question had tried to follow but her mother quickly took her in hand and forestalled the ill-conceived attempt. “Not this time.”

“Rat poop!” she spat.

“Watch out for your mother,” Jiron told her.

She pulled one of her daggers and gave a very solemn solute.

He grinned and did the same. Once completed, he said to Aleya, “Don’t worry. This won’t take too long. James will have this over in short order and we’ll be back together before nightfall.”

Meliana and Aleya stood together at the railing with Kenny and Jira. They waved and exchanged words of love and safe passage with James and Jiron.

Kendrick shouted orders and sails unfurled.

James stood there and watched Melia’s Dream carry his wife and son away.

“Damn!”

His exclamation startled Jiron. “What is it?”

James sighed and shook his head. “Forgot to give her the chocolates.”

“You can do so when we rejoin them tonight.”

“Don’t let me forget again.”

“I won’t,” Jiron said, slapping his back. He waved to Aleya and Jira until they grew indistinct in the distance.

Chapter Forty-Four

“Have the lookout holler when they come into view.”

“Aye, Sir,” Captain Anyn said.

“Azhan, give us some wind.”

“Yes, Master.”

James crossed to the magical device recently acquired from the enemy ship. The priest, or rather what had been left of him had been removed and the machine and deck cleaned during their time with Melia’s Dream.

“Think you can work this?” Jiron asked.

James shrugged. “Possibly. But it isn’t the machine itself I’m interested in, rather the crystals.” Of the original twelve, nine retained their glow. “They may prove useful.”

“Be careful.”

“I shall. Let me know when the enemy is sighted.”

“Will do.”

A very fine latticework of golden filigree provided a cage wherein the crystals were stored. Each cage was secured on one side by two silver hinges; the other secured the cage in place with an eyelet and a small silver lock.

He sent his senses into the lock and cage to see if there were any magical booby traps waiting to ensnare the unwary. Not finding any, he modified his assassin spell and severed the lock. Slipping it off, he pulled open the cage and removed the crystal.

It glowed deeply with a great amount of stored magic. Having much experience with crystals, he could guess with some accuracy how much magic the crystal contained. He glanced to Jiron, “These will come in handy.”

Shorty joined them and held out a small cloth bag. “Here.”

James took it. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the crystal into the bag.

One by one he released the crystals from their cages. Even the depleted ones he took for they could still be used to again harness magical energy. The cloth bag bulged heavily once the last rested within.

“So what is the deal with Eddra?” he asked Miko.

“I believe Morcyth wants her to remain with us.”

“She would be safer had she gone with Kendrick.”

Miko shook his head. “I do not think so.”

“What?” James asked, alarmed.

“No, no, no,” Miko said quickly. “I did not mean it that way. There was no part of the vision indicating harm to Melia’s Dream. Rather, a feeling that should she go with them, a doom would befall us.”

“Can you elaborate?”

He shook his head. “Though I cannot, I remain steadfast in my belief that she must remain on board.”

“Think it came from Morcyth?”

“Of that, I am absolutely certain.” His gaze traveled to where she sat with Father Keller. “In some way, she is important to our future.”

James followed his gaze, allowed his to linger upon the now-sleeping old woman before returning to Miko. “Then we must ensure her safety.”

“Indeed.”

“Sails ho!” came the cry from the lookout.

Rushing to the rail, they looked out over the ocean toward seven sails in formation moving their way.

“Looks like they picked up two more,” Jiron said. “Could be interesting.”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you mad?” demanded Captain Anyn. “They’ll kill us all.”

James flashed him an irritated look. “See to your men and your ship, Captain. We’ll deal with this.” Their gazes met and locked. The captain turned away first.

“Hikai,” he said, turning to his apprentice. “Gather the clouds.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Like before, target their masts.”

His skin prickled with the onset of magic use. The sky darkened as clouds rolled in from all directions.

“What of me, Master?”

James turned to Azhan. “Protect the ship.”

His apprentice nodded.

“And this time,” Scar said, “don’t forget to send those arrows back to their owners,”

“I won’t.”

James gathered magic and put a protective shield before their bow to ward off attacks from the magical devices. He then embedded spells identical to those used during their last encounter with these enemy ships within seven of his remaining slugs. Knocking each against the ship’s wooden rail set the trigger event in place, he then waited for the gap to close. He didn’t have to wait long.

Wham!

Nine beams struck the shield simultaneously in a massive explosion of heat and light.

“By the gods!” exclaimed Potbelly as heated air bordering on searing rolled over the ship.

Hair smoldered, skin reddened, and it was over in an instant.

Standing at the bow as he had, James had felt the brunt of it. Morcyth’s glow sprang to life beside him as Miko called to his god. The healing light spread to him and skin that burned was soothed; redness subsided and a more normal color returned. Fathers Keller and Vickor did likewise for the rest of those on the ship.

“Thank you.”

“Any time,” Miko replied.

Sailing straight for them was the large, command ship. On either side sailed three of the smaller ships like those with which they had previously dealt. After the attack, the two sets of three altered course so as to angle away from the flagship; one set to the right, the other to the left.

“Going to flank us,” commented Scar.

James nodded. “Keep heading for the big one.”

“Aye,” replied a nervous Captain Anyn.

He cocked an eye to the captain. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep your ship safe.”

The captain returned an unconvinced look though he nodded.

Summoning more magic to him, James extended the protective shield along both sides of the ship to ward off any attacks the sets of three ships may attempt during their flanking maneuver.

Wham!

Another bright explosion erupted as beams of light struck the shield. This time the effect was lessened as the beams were now unable to concentrate their attacks upon a single spot. Three from the flagship struck the bow section of the shield while three struck on each side from the flankers.

“How are you doing?”

James glanced to Potbelly. “Piece of cake.” Then under his breath he mumbled, “If that’s the best they can do.”

The seas grew choppy as Hikai brought clouds in from all parts of the sky. The deck rolled upon the waves.

“Target the flagship if you would,” James said.

“Yes, Master,” replied Hikai.

James took three of his spell-embedded slugs into his right hand as lightning struck down upon the enemy ship. Even from so far a distance, the resulting thunder resonated within his chest. More than one sailor made exclamations; some in shock, others in awe, and still others in exuberant encouragement.

Arcing back his hand to throw, he overheard Scar say to a sailor, “…this is nothing, you should have seen him at the walls of Korazan. Of course, then he was by himself…now, with two apprentices, this should really be something….”

Turning a deaf ear to the Pit Master, he concentrated on the three ships moving to flank them on the right. Once he had the trajectory firmly set in his mind, he threw the stones and let loose the magic.

Wham!

Beams again struck the shield and did little more than drain magic that he could readily afford to lose.

The slugs sailed through the air. He kept them firmly set in his mind’s eye as they rose to the apex of their arc. Then, after a final magical burst to send them down to their respective targets, he let go the magic and they fell as dormant iron.

Like before, when they struck the wooden deck of the ship, the latent spells activated.

Men died as magic drained from them to power the spells that cracked hulls and exploded flames outward to tear ships asunder.

Sailors cheered and Scar hollered. “Didn’t I tell ya?”

As the trio sank beneath the waves, James tried not to think of the loss of life; he did what he did for his family.

Lightning continued pummeling the flagship. As he turned his attention to the ships on the left, there was a lull in the strikes and he caught sight of a barely seen field of golden luminosity surrounding the flagship.

“A shield,” he mumbled.

“What?” asked Miko.

He pointed to the flagship. “They have a shield.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“I don’t know.” His gaze lingered upon the shield as he muttered, “Let’s hope not.”

Sending his mind’s eye to the ship, he saw that the lightning strikes had had little effect. Not a sail had been scorched and no men had been harmed. Then another series of strikes hit and he watched as they were deflected many feet before they could reach the wooden spars of the ship. At least Hikai was keeping the priest on board busy while he took care of the support ships.

Again he took three slugs in his hand, readied the spells to launch them.

Golden magical beams of heat struck his shield in rapid succession. Each was easily deflected and he wondered if these priests with their magical devices were little more than one-trick ponies. Against the average, non-mage-carrying ship, they would be devastating. But against someone who knew what he was doing…little more than a nuisance.

He didn’t have time to think about that now, he readied his slugs, set in his mind the trajectory to the other trio of ships, and threw.

As before, they sailed through the air. The first hit the wooden body of the mast…the spell triggered and the ship disintegrated in a mass of fire and death. The second left a hole in the mainsail on its way to the deck; spells activated, men died and the ship was no more.

The third slug hit one of the smaller sails at an angle, slid along its length, and fell upon a coil of rope. Not striking the wooden deck, the latent spells failed to activate. When the ship did not explode as had the others, James sent his senses to investigate.

Sailors and men-at-arms stood gathered around the coil of rope. The ship’s priest knelt before the slug, hand reaching out, his fingers came close but did not connect to the bit of iron. One sailor was gesticulating wildly, pointing to the sail and then to the slug and speaking in an animated fashion as if to explain how the slug came to be there.

James did not wait for them to figure it out. He sent his senses toward the slug with the intent to manually activate the spell. But as they drew near, they grew hazy until finally breaking down altogether. Pulling back, they regained their clarity.

He tried a second time with the same result. For some reason, he could not connect with the slug. The presence of the priest must in some way inhibit his ability to work magic. That, coupled with the distance may explain it.

The priest in question pulled out his magic-tracker, the crystal dove and held it out before the slug. It rotated away from it and pointed in the direction of where James stood upon the ship across the water.

“It’s just a dead slug,” James mumbled under his breath. “Hardly worth your time.” He hoped they would dismiss it and in some way cause it to fall to the deck thereby activating the spells. But such was not to be.

A golden glow enveloped the tracker dove and the slug. For a few moments, the priest concentrated upon the slug before the glow vanished. He then spoke to a nearby sailor, gestured to it and the sailor moved to pick it up. The priest stopped him, and then produced a cloth. The sailor took it and used the cloth to pick up the slug. He then proceeded to walk to the side and tossed it overboard.

By this time the flagship had closed the gap; sailors on both ships could easily be made out with the naked eye. Waves of heat rolled over the ship as the priest sent beams of heat to strike the shield. Another series struck and James glanced toward the flagship. Lightning rained down upon the ship as Hikai maintained his barrage.

So dark was the cloud cover above that it had created a gloom in the world beneath; rain began to fall. The gathered storms had sparked other strikes of lightning; one shot for Captain Anyn’s mainmast but was deflected at the last minute.

Azhan shot James a look of accomplishment.

“Good job,” praised his master.

“That crazy Hikai is dropping them all over the place,” Shorty mumbled.

“That last was not him,” Azhan said, defending his friend.

“Then who?”

Azhan shrugged. “Nature? The Gods? Take your pick.”

Another strike went for the mainmast but Azhan readily deflected it.

Low on slugs, James readied a trio of copper coins to act as receptacles for the devastating, ship-destroying spells. Tapping them on the wooden rail to set the trigger in place, he gathered magic and threw.

As before, they soared unerringly toward the ship only this time, they struck a shield at the last minute and deflected harmlessly into the sea.

“Damn,” cursed James.

“They are learning,” commenting Miko.

James thought for a moment then turned to Scar. “Tell the captain to turn and lead them for a while.” As Scar made to do so, James added, “Not in the direction my family went.”

“Goes without saying,” Scar replied then hurried toward where Captain Anyn watched the battle with several of his crew.

“What do you have in mind?” queried Potbelly.

James ignored the question and instead, pulled out his mirror. He first focused on the flagship and found the priest had been joined by a second. Any attempt to zoom in for a closer look resulted in an increasingly indistinct picture that quickly deteriorated into nothingness. Pulling back for a bird’s eye view restored the picture. He then scrolled the image to the flanking ship.

This time he managed a very close look before the image grew affected. The priest that had once held a look of complete confidence now bore a more worried look; many of the soldiers and crew looked just at worried if not downright nervous.

“Not as much protection on the smaller one,” he said.

“Take care of it first?” Miko asked.

James nodded. Closing his eyes, he sent his senses toward the forward hull of the smaller ship. First, he tried penetrating the hull with his senses. When he encountered no resistance, he returned them to the wooden hull below the water line. Then formulating his assassin spell, he cut out a sizeable chunk from the hull.

Water gushed in as he cut away a second section.

Men shouted and scrambled for the ladder leading to the deck above.

A second piece of hull fell away, and then a third before he felt a slight interference to his work. He pulled back and let his senses remain just enough to allow him to monitor the inflow of water into the enemy ship.

“It’s listing!” a sailor shouted. A cheer went up. A moment later another cry sounded that it was turning about and heading back to the island.

All the while, James continued to see what the priest would do about the inflow of water. For him, a simple shield spell modified to prevent water from passion would have sealed the leak. But such failed to materialize. Instead, sailors entered the maelstrom of rushing water with planks, mallets, tar and nails to shore it up. Before they could accomplish it, his senses were clouded over and obscured by the enemy spells.

Letting the magic go, he opened his eyes and saw that the ship was indeed listing badly to one side.

“Hikai.”

“Yes, Master?”

“Hold off on the lightning for a moment,” he told his apprentice.

“Yes, Master.”

Quiet settled over the water as the last roll of thunder faded away. Sailing toward the northeast, they led the enemy flagship by less than a hundred yards.

James sent his senses toward the flagship’s hull in an attempt to do the same to it as he had to the other, but ran into a magical wall some ten feet from the ship. He tried forcing his way through to no avail. He probed for weaknesses first to the right then to the left; up and then down below the water. The enemy’s shield proved to be quite extensive. Could the priest on the flagship have learned from what happened to the other ship? Or was he just that much better than the other priest?

He readied a handful of coins with ship-destroying spells, used magic to send them toward the ship only to watch each be deflected into the sea.

“This priest is good.”

James cocked an eye to Scar and nodded. “So it would seem.”

An image from a Melville book read back in high school came to mind and he turned to his apprentices. “Either of you proficient with commanding animals?” Their blank expressions said the answer was no. “Don’t worry, neither am I.” Bringing a whale or other large sea creature up to take out the ship, while a great idea, was not very practical when it came right down to it.

He stared at the pursuing ship for a moment. “It’s going to catch us, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Miko. “They have gained continually since we turned and ran.”

“What we need is a submarine.”

“A submarine?”

James nodded. “A ship that sails beneath the water.”

Scar laughed and Potbelly guffawed, “Now that would be something.”

Then James got a reflective look as he turned toward the port side of the ship.

They followed his gaze and saw a six-man rowboat secured to the deck with rope and tackle.

Walking to the rowboat, James ran his hand along the edge as he looked thoughtfully back at the ship trailing them.

“What are you thinking?”

Turning to Miko, he said, “Thinking about being creative.” Then to Scar, “How about some fun?”

Grinning, Scar replied, “Anytime you’re ready.”

Five minutes later, the rowboat had been raised and then lowered over the side just enough that it rested even with the ship’s railing.

“Okay, boys,” he said to his apprentices, “Unleash the heavens.”

Lightning slammed into the forward section of the shield surrounding the enemy ship. Waves leapt up to break over her bow.

“Let’s go.”

James hopped into the rowboat along with Jiron, Tinok, Scar, Potbelly and Father Vickor.

“Lower away,” ordered Captain Anyn.

As they lowered them to the water, James said to Miko, “Give me a couple minutes then have them stop.”

“I shall. Good luck.”

Once the boat settled upon the water, they removed the lines and drifted away from Captain Anyn’s ship.

“You sure you can do this?” Shorty asked nervously.

“I believe so,” James replied.

After allowing them to fall behind a ways, James closed his eyes, calmed his mind, then gathered magic to him. A shield sprung up around the rowboat, then quicker than he had anticipated, they sank beneath the waves.

Chapter Forty-Five

“This is a most unsettling experience.”

Father Vickor ran his fingers along the inner side of the shield, beyond which swam a fish.

Twenty feet below the surface, James concentrated on keeping the bubble spell active. The others sat and looked in awe at the dark, enveloping water.

“My spells are unable to penetrate the priest’s defensive magic,” James said. “Getting behind them is the only way. Keep an eye out for the ship to pass overhead.”

His plan was to sink beneath the surface, allow the enemy ship to pass, then come at them from the back. Hopefully, they would remain undetected throughout this rather unorthodox journey.

At first, he wanted nothing more than to destroy the ship and rejoin his family. Miko, on the other hand, once he learned of what James intended to do, had argued for a mission aimed more at intelligence gathering than destruction.

“We need to know more about them,” he had argued. “Who are they? Where do they come from? And more importantly, what do they plan to do?”

Potbelly nodded. “And are they going to be satisfied with just the island and maybe some coastal cities? Or are more soldiers on the way for a deeper push into the Empire? We need to find out what is going on.”

The argument that made his mind up was “Are their attacks limited to this area? Or are other ships heading for points west where we sent the others to safety? Maybe even to Cardri itself?”

James agreed, they had to know whether or not Meliana and Kenny were leaving one war zone for another. The best way to do that was the capture and interrogation of one of their priests.

Now, they sat in a rowboat encased in a shield twenty feet below the surface. He had moved them out of the enemy ship’s path so as not to encounter its protective shield. Such an encounter while unlikely to dispel James’ protective shield which would prove disastrous, would at the very least alert the priest on board that something was afoot.

Not long after they had submerged, a shadow passed across the light filtering down from above.

“There it goes,” Shorty said.

James immediately turned their boat in pursuit. Keeping it under the waves, he gradually brought them closer to the surface as they gained on the ship.

Back on Captain Anyn’s ship, his two apprentices kept watch on a glowing orb.

“This plan is crazy,” Father Keller said, and not for the first time.

Miko gave him a grin. “He has had crazier. We must trust in him.”

“What happens if he loses his concentration? Has he ever done this before?”

Thinking back to the ride on the door across the desert, Miko replied, “In a way.”

“The Dark Mage can do anything,” Azhan said.

“I would not say that,” Miko argued. “He is a man, as any other. He merely has abilities greater than most.”

Azhan did not look convinced.

“It’s gone,” Hikai announced.

The orb had vanished. Which meant that James’ link to the orb had been severed by the insertion of the enemy’s shield between him and the orb. That mean he was now behind the enemy flagship.

“Then let us begin.”

A bowl of water rested in Miko’s hand. Instantly, an aerial view of the enemy ship came into focus.

“Now.”

Magic flowed from the two apprentices and lightning slammed unrelentingly into the bow of the enemy ship. Its shield held.

Water rose in massive waves as Azhan bent the seas to his will. They hit the bow with incredible force, breaking upon the shield as if it were a rock protruding from a riverbed.

The enemy’s ship pitched with the rough seas but otherwise remained unaffected. As an attack it failed utterly, but as a distraction while James did his thing…

Thunderous concussions hit them as they breached the water. Twenty feet behind the rudder, James sped up their progress. Spray fountained into the air as they cut through the waves.

“Keep watch,” Jiron said. “If we are discovered before gaining the ship things could get dicey.”

Azhan’s handling of the water caused massive swells to roll and crest all around them. It took every bit of concentration he could muster to keep them moving forward and on a somewhat even keel. Had they been at the sea’s mercy, they would have overturned in seconds.

The rear of the ship remained devoid of sailors; all eyes were focused upon the fleeing ship before them. Thus far, it appeared their plan was working.

Minute by minute they gained upon the flagship. James angled slightly to the starboard so as to avoid the rudder. He came alongside. Once they were within inches of the side of the ship, he took a deep breath, worked to maintain their position while extending his senses to the side of the ship. A moment later, his assassin spell caused a section of the ship next to them, roughly four feet in diameter, to break free and fall away.

Jiron and Tinok quickly scrambled inside. Scar and Potbelly followed. Next came Father Vickor who paused at the opening to extend a helping hand to James.

James cautiously made his way to the opening while continuing to maintain the rowboat’s position. He took hold of Father Vickor’s hand and once he had a foot within the opening, shredded the rowboat with a series of assassin spells before letting it go. Chopped into many pieces, it sank beneath the surface leaving very little evidence upon the surface that they had been there.

Holding his hand out the opening, he gave a thumb’s up.

Miko looked up from the image in the bowl. “They are in.”

Azhan and Hikai ceased their attacks.

“Should I keep the clouds handy?” Hikai asked.

Miko shook his head. “I do not think they will again be needed.”

“Very well.”

The dark clouds above began to dissipate.

Two bodies lay in a pool of blood in the bottom of the cargo hold. It was packed full with barrels, boxes and sacks brimming with food and weapons. Tinok wiped his blades clean on one of the deceased men’s shirts before returning them to their sheaths.

“It’s clear they mean to stay awhile,” Jiron commented as James joined them.

“They have enough stores here to last months I would think,” Scar added.

James gestured to the two dead sailors. “Anyone else?”

Jiron shook his head. “No. We surprised these two and quickly took them out before they could raise the alarm.”

“I think they were shocked to suddenly see a hole open in their ship,” added Tinok, then he pointed to where a ladder climbed to the deck above. “And when we entered they made a run for it.” He glanced back to James. “They didn’t make it.”

Already the concussions of his apprentices’ diversionary attacks had faded away. Miko had been watching. Now it was up to them.

James nodded. “Very good.”

From his pocket he pulled forth two of the magic-filled crystals removed from the enemy’s magical weapon. “Here,” he said, “each of you hold out your hand.”

“What for?” asked Potbelly, his reticence clearly visible.

Jiron held out his hand and James tapped the back of it with each of the crystals. The knifer then hurried to the ladder and climbed up to take a look.

James turned to Potbelly. “I’m having them recognize you so the spells I embed will ignore you.”

“Oh,” the Pit Master replied and then extended his hand.

Each in turn extended their hands to be tapped by the crystals. Once both crystals had recognized everyone, James embedded the final spells.

Scar had a bag opened and was sniffing a piece of jerked beef. After a quick taste, he put several more in his pocket.

“Shame to waste all this food.”

Potbelly stood next to a score of small wine casks stacked neatly against the outer hull. He sighed longingly. “Tell me about it.”

James just rolled his eyes and moved to join Jiron at the ladder. The others followed. Potbelly had a cask under one arm and two mugs in hand. He handed one to Scar.

At the top of the ladder, Jiron had the hatch cover lifted just enough to allow him to peer out to what lay beyond.

“Looks like crew quarters,” he said.

A row of hammocks hung across the open space in tiers of three.

“Anyone?” James asked.

Jiron glanced down to him. “Doesn’t look like it.” Peering back through the opening, he raised it scrambled through.

Shorty came next, knife in hand ready to throw. As the others made their way up, he and Jiron moved to the only exit from the room; an opening leading to a passageway running the length of the ship. Doors stood closed along its length. Near the middle, a beam of sunlight shone down upon the wooden floor. Another broke the darkness at the far end.

“It looks like there are two ways up to the main deck,” Jiron told James as they joined him. “One in the middle and another at the far end.”

“The far end would take you close to the priest,” Scar advised.

Just then from down the hall between the midsection access to the upper deck and where they stood, a door opened and a man stepped out. Dressed in ragged sailor attire, he had to have been an ordinary crewman.

He at first turned to head away from them toward the light at the far end, but something caused him to pause, and turn back toward where James and the others stood. His eyes widened as he saw them standing at the end of the passageway. Any sounding of an alarm he had been about to utter remained stillborn as one of Shorty’s knives sank to the hilt in the upper part of his chest.

Jiron bolted forward and finished him off before the man had the chance to sink to the floor.

“We better make this fast,” he said.

James nodded.

Jiron moved to the where a steep set of steps rose to the main deck, down which came the sound of men droning in a sing-song style.

“What are they doing?” Shorty asked.

“Praying.”

They turned to Father Vickor. “They are praying. I can feel it.”

“Why?” Potbelly asked.

The priest shrugged. “That I cannot tell you.”

To Scar, Jiron said, “You and Potbelly take Shorty down to the other end and wait for our signal.”

“Right.” To Potbelly, Scar said, “Try to be quiet.”

“Me?” he replied in mock irritation. “You’re the one that moves like a pregnant rhino-lizard.”

His friend just grinned as they headed down the passageway.

James followed Jiron as he sneaked up the steps and to the opening at the top. Father Vickor brought up the rear. At the top, Jiron signaled for the others to wait as he peered at what lay beyond. After a brief reconnoiter, he came back down a step.

“Everyone on the ship, other than the two priests and the captain look to be in prayer.”

“Let me see,” James said.

Moving to the top, he peered out on scores of kneeling men. Heads bowed and hands held aloft, they chanted a repeating mantra. The two priests stood by the three magical weapons at the bow. Their priestly glow surrounded them and the weapons.

James closed his eyes and with the barest amount of magic, sent his senses out to see what was going on. To do so with such a miniscule amount of power took far greater concentration than was usually required, but he dared not risk detection.

As his senses reached the nearest of the praying men, he detected faint lines of power radiating outward from each. Extending his senses further, he saw how the power tendrils coming from those praying met at a central point above them. From there the power flowed toward the priests. Once at the priests, he saw how the magic was being channeled toward the magic weapons’ crystals. James gasped.

“They’re using prayer to recharge the crystals.”

“Is that even possible?” asked Jiron.

“Magic is magic,” James explained, “whether priestly, or from a mage. If I can do it, so can anyone else. They just have to believe they can and figure out how.”

He felt very bad about what he was about to do, but could see no way around it. Taking one of the two crystals out of his pocket, he held it tight, raised it so as to aim at those praying. Setting in his mind to draw all their power from them in one, massive burst of leeching magic, he activated the spell.

Those nearest slumped to the deck but the remainder continued prayer as if nothing happened. Magic was being drawn into the crystal at an alarming rate, yet only a handful of men had been affected. It took but a moment to realize the magic being leeched came from the prayers, not the men.

The priest’s head spun toward him and James threw up a shield spell just as a blast of priestly magic slammed into it. He responded with a burst of his own. A wall of air hit the priests, knocking the lesser one back to the edge of the ship; the elder one looked to not have been affected at all.

A shield interposed itself between James and those praying. Instantly, the magic being drawn into the crystal ceased.

For a brief moment, he and the priest faced off, eyes locked. Then the ship erupted in motion as men ceased praying and leapt to their feet. Drawing weapons, they turned and attacked.

Jiron and Father Vickor interposed themselves between James and the scores of armed men. Morcyth’s white light enveloped Father Vickor. To Jiron’s surprise, a glowing shield of sorts sprang into being on the priest’s left forearm. It deflected a downward hack. Father Vickor followed through with a crushing blow to the man’s midsection.

“Nice,” Jiron said.

“Morcyth protects his own.” Offering a prayer of gratitude to his god, Father Vickor crashed his glowing, translucent shield into another man knocking him back.

Three men already lay at Jiron’s feet and commotion at the other side of the mob of enemy soldiers said Scar, Potbelly and Shorty had entered the fray.

James only had eyes for the priest; he trusted his friends to handle the soldiers.

He and the priest tested each other’s shields; a probe here, a jab there, each searching for a weakness to be exploited. James had to admit, the priest he faced was far more experienced than the ones previously encountered.

Father Vickor cried out as he was pushed back when a blade took him in the shoulder.

Jiron stepped in and kicked the soldier in the side of the knee as the man tried to follow through with another thrust on the off-balanced priest. A satisfying snap broke through the din and the man fell.

“You okay?” he asked.

The blood flowing from the wound slowed to a trickle, then the skin began to knit as Father Vickor’s priestly magic went to work. “Fine,” he said. Stepping forward once again, he engaged another man, a sailor this time. Short sword deflected on his shield, a solid hit to the man’s midsection with his mace and then a knee to the face when the man doubled over sent him unconscious to the deck.

The din was deafening. The clash of metal on metal, men shouting, men dying, and through it all, James played parry and counter-parry with the priest.

He reached to the dissipating clouds above, found just enough electric charge available, and sent a bolt of lightning down onto the priest. The concussion sent nearby soldiers flying and when the flash subsided, saw the priest standing beneath a protective bubble.

Accessing the magic within the crystal in his hand, he sent a powerful wave along the deck toward the priest. Boards splintered, sailors and soldiers alike flew into the air or were knocked off their feet as a ten foot wide swath of deck disintegrated and fell to the hold below. Upon reaching the priest’s shield, the wave of destruction continued on beneath it only a short distance before the priest altered the shield’s position and halted the attack.

“Almost had you,” James mumbled.

His attack had left a massive hole; most of the enemy soldiers were now a deck below amidst the wreckage; most barely moved. Potbelly and Father Vickor easily dealt with the few that remained.

“What in the name of the gods is he doing?” Scar said as his twin long swords wove a dance of death among those that made ill-fated attempts to attack.

“Trying to sink us by the looks of it,” Potbelly replied.

His dagger knocked a thrust to the right and he followed with his sword to take the soldier in the gut. He kicked the man back into his fellows and thrust at another on his left that tried to close.

Over by Scar and Potbelly, the fighting was still quite furious. The two pit masters held the line while Shorty darted to and fro behind them seeking opportunities for his knives to find a home.

Scar dropped a soldier, an opening appeared and a knife spun through the air to sink into the chest of a sailor further back in the pack. Shorty then drew another knife and waited.

Less than half a score soldiers stood before them. They lacked the skill of pit fighters who had been seasoned against the meanest fighters coins and no small amount of trickery could throw at them. The enemy had the numbers, but Scar and Potbelly’s skill and the confining area in which they fought negated much of that advantage.

Piercing a man through the chest then blocking an overhand hack from another, Scar spun and kicked another back several steps. “Can you hold?”

“Yes,” Potbelly replied. “You going somewhere?”

“See if I can help James.” He pressed those facing him furiously causing them to fall back. “Shorty, take over.”

“You got it,” the knifer said. Stepping forward, he drew his fighting knives and allowed Scar to fall back.

Scar then went to the side of the ship, grabbed the side and slipped over the edge.

Tinok looked up from the image in Miko’s bowl and spied the captain. “Turn us around!”

“The Dark Mage said for us to lead them,” argued Captain Anyn.

“That time is past.” Tinok’s face turned stony. “Now I’m telling you to turn us about.”

The captain glanced to Miko who nodded. Looking defeated, he hollered, “Turn us about!”

“That priest is holding his own.”

Miko glanced to Father Keller. “He does seem skilled.”

“What does Scar hope to accomplish, Reverend Father?” Kip asked. In the bowl’s image, Scar was making his way along the outer edge of the ship toward the front where the two priests stood beneath the yellowish, glowing shield.

“I do not know.”

“Our Master needs help,” Azhan said.

“And what do you propose to do?” Miko asked. “At this distance, not hitting our friends with whatever you attempt would prove quite difficult.”

The young mage paced to and fro. He knew he could do nothing and it frustrated him.

“The Dark Mage will win out,” Miko assured him.

“Are you sure?” Hikai asked.

“He has overcome much worse.”

“None of our previous masters could do even half what we’ve seen him accomplish” Hikai said.

Azhan nodded.

The ship turned and as it headed back toward the enemy flagship, the young mage gazed out over the water. Above, the clouds were dissipating steadily as the winds broke them apart or sent them on their way. Stretches of clear blue now filled most of the sky. Even from this distance he could feel the magic being used. The prickling along his skin grew with each passing breath. He swelled with no small amount of pride at the abilities of his master.

Then from out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shimmering in the sky above. He looked up and gasped; several miles off, the sky shimmered. Not in just one section of the sky, but three. One came from the northwest, another from almost due east and the third out of the southern sky. They looked to be converging on the flagship where his master fought the priest.

“Look!” he hollered as he pointed upward.

Miko saw the shimmering fields with dread. He well remembered the problems James had had with those in the Waste.

“Azhan, fill the sails,” he commanded. “We need to get back there and fast!”

The soldiers and sailors had been dealt with. The ship’s captain laid dead with his men. Any wounds received had been healed by Father Vickor. Now there was a standoff between James and the priest.

Having lashed out unsuccessfully multiple times, the priest and his subordinate stood within the protective bubble.

Everyone but Scar had joined James behind his protective shield.

“If we can get his shield down,” Potbelly said, “Scar should be able to hit him with a dart and end this.”

James eyed the ship’s railing beyond the two priests and saw the top of Scar’s head poking up from where he hung on the far side.

“I could try talking to him,” Father Vickor said, “priest to priest.”

“Doubt that would accomplish anything,” James replied. “Besides, I got an idea.”

Sending out his senses, he inspected the priest’s protective bubble. Tried a leech spell upon it and at first it failed to connect with the priest’s magic. After several attempts at different modulations, finally managed to drain magic. He canceled the leech spell and opened his eyes.

“Let’s see how much magic he can control at one time.”

Cupping his hands together, he formed a small glowing speck between them. After creating a spell that would both leech the magic and send waves of force back to strike the shield, he opened his hands.

The small speck floated up to hover a short distance away from the ship. Once in position, the spells activated. Instantly, James’ skin prickled as the speck began to draw power. He allowed it to run a few moments then activated the secondary, attack spell. That spell would send the drawn power back to the shield in an intermittent, pulsating attack. Kind of like a malignant parasite killing its host.

Wham!

The priest easily dealt with the attack and the shield held.

James once again cupped his hands, made a second speck and sent it up to hover opposite the first. Once it had begun to leech and strike with its pulsating attack, he cupped his hands to make a third… then a fourth.

The priest was sweating now. The younger priest was aglow with their god’s power; a yellowish tendril of priestly magic stretched from one to the other.

Wham!

Wham!

Wham! Wham!

A fifth parasitic speck joined the others, then a sixth. The sextuplet of specs formed a rough hexagon in the air surrounding them.

The glowing tendril between the two priests now glowed much brighter. Sweat ran down the face of the younger. His breathing grew labored.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Father Vickor said.

Already the protective bubble was dimmer than previously. Each time one of the specks sent an attack, the older mage visibly winced. James had to agree, it shouldn’t take much longer.

Behind the priests, Scar edged up over the rail and came lightly down on the deck. He squatted behind a barrel sitting near the back railing. Dart in hand, he waited for an opportunity.

Potbelly, too, held a dart…just in case.

Subconsciously, James ran his hand along his arm to still the prickling sensation. With the specks in play, it had grown rather uncomfortable; and the longer they were in effect, the feeling only grew more intense.

His senses probed the protective bubble, seeking weaknesses. When a fissure momentarily opened in it only to close a heartbeat later, he knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

“Maybe another of those?” suggested Shorty, gesturing to a glowing spec that hovered not far from where they stood.

James shook his head. “Six will be enough. They are already taking their toll.”

The link between the two priests vanished as the younger priest pitched forward to land unmoving upon the deck.

“Nope, not long now.”

Anticipating the end, James sent his senses to each of the specks in order that when the protective bubble failed, he could deactivate them. He wanted to capture the priest, not kill him.

The bubble wavered, nearly collapsing altogether before the priest managed to get it back in place.

One of Scar’s darts pinged off the back of it when he had sensed an opportunity. Cursing his ill-luck, he readied a second dart.

“What is that?”

James heard Father Vickor’s question but at first dismissed it. But then Shorty’s, “By the gods!” drew him back to himself. Everyone was looking out to sea beyond the ship’s stern.

An arc of roiling water stretching across a great swath of the surface steadily made its way toward them. Still a mile or so out, the cause of the roiling was difficult to determine. Drawing closer, it soon became clear that an untold number of fish were thrashing on the surface.

One large specimen with a spear-like nose leapt from the water, twisted completely around in mid-air, then fell back to the water.

A distortion in the sky above the roiling drew his attention. The shimmering was almost upon them.

“Damn!” he cried and latched his senses upon the nearest speck and tried to deactivate it. Already, fissures had opened and the nature of the spell was changing.

“James, the shimmering…” began Jiron.

“I know,” he said, cutting him off.

“The fish,” Potbelly said, “the leading edge of the fish disturbance is directly under the beginning of the shimmering.”

Zzzzzt!

An arc of lightning lanced into the approaching shimmering field from the northwest.

James’ jaw dropped when he saw the second shimmering field.

“Look there!” shouted Father Vickor. Yet a third was coming in from the east.

“Three?” James asked, incredulously. “But…how? Why?”

Zzzzzt!

This time lightning shot from the southern shimmering field to the one to the east.

Zzzzzt! Zzzzzt!

As the fields drew closer together, the frequency of lightning strikes increased. Winds picked up and the sea grew choppy. By now the thrashing of the fish was clearly audible and ominously close. Another large fish leapt greater than the height of a man, spun in air three times before hitting the surface in a plume of water.

A sudden burst of crackling and popping drew his attention to the nearest speck. Sparks flew from it and an arc of magic flared outward, striking Father Vickor. Stumbling backward, the priest cried out as he fell to the deck. Starting from just below his left eye and traveling down to his larynx, ran a jagged, foot long welt. Calling out to Morcyth, he was quickly enveloped in the god’s whitish glow and the wound began to diminish.

Jiron was at the priest’s side and helped him stand.

“Get back, all of you!” James hollered.

Red ants marched along his skin, so bad had the prickling become. In the sky above, the three shimmering fields were quickly moving to merge together. He turned his senses to the specks. They, and the magic they were utilizing, were drawing the fields to them.

Spells were being corrupted at an alarming rate. All had mass fissures with new spell matrix’s being formed. Concentrating on the one that attacked Father Vickor, James sought the core spell.

“James!”

Ignoring Jiron’s cry, he threw himself into the closing of the spell. Never had concentration come so hard, nor had results been so wavering. Not only were the spells being corrupted, but the magic he sought to perform was affected the moment he bent the power to his will.

He put everything he had into closing the spell and unraveling the Gordian Knot of corrupted power conduits. Wending his way through the convoluted matrix, he was about to reach the core spell when fissures erupted all around where his senses sought to penetrate.

Power took hold of his mind’s eye and a backlash of magic wrenched the spell from him and dropped him to his knees.

“James!” Jiron shouted again.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder.

“We got to get off this ship!” the knifer yelled.

Arcs of magic were striking all around them.

Father Vickor stroked amongst them with mace aloft and the righteous power of Morcyth blazing like a sun. He drew the arcs to his mace. Each time contact with one was made, there was an explosion of magic and a secondary arc of power traveled from his mace out to sea.

The priest within the bubble was gaunt and had fallen to his knees. Hair grown white, his robes soaked with sweat, he raised his arms and cried out one last time before the protective bubble completely failed.

Arcs of power immediately struck the priest; targeting each hand, his head and through the heart. They drained the life out of him in an instant.

“Come on,” Jiron urged.

Taking James under the arms, he hauled his friend to his feet.

Suddenly the ship pitched to the right. James and Jiron were thrown to the deck as the entire ship trembled.

A mammoth set of flukes, larger than any whale’s, appeared off the port side. They slapped the side of the ship, breaking off a sizeable chunk of the railing and part of the deck, dragging it back with it beneath the surface.

“By the gods!” exclaimed Potbelly.

Arcs continued flying from the specks. Father Vickor successfully dealt with most of them, but a few still got through. An explosion of light knocked Shorty back to the rail. Off-balanced, his legs hit the edge and he tumbled over.

Scar appeared from out of nowhere, dove and grabbed him by the leg just before he fell to the water.

Below, the water was a maelstrom of thrashing fish of all size, colors and textures. Long thing eel-like creatures with jagged teeth, others more translucent while still others, greater than the size of a man, fought amongst each other with mindless ferocity.

“Thanks, man,” Shorty croaked as Scar extended his hand to pull him back up on the deck.

Down below, the fish-choked water parted as a massive, teeth-filled mouth shot for the knifer.

Scar yanked him on board just at the fish’s mouth snapped shut where Shorty had been but a moment before. As it bell back to the water, it twisted and snared one of the smaller fish that thrashed uncontrollably before going under.

The front of Shorty’s shirt was gone as was a good layer of skin beneath. His legs wouldn’t sustain him and Scar settled him to the ground.

“Vickor!” he shouted but the priest failed to hear.

Aglow in Morcyth’s power, Father Vickor continued fending off the attacks of the specks.

“If we don’t get off this ship,” Potbelly said, coming to his friend’s side, “we’re dead.”

The three shimmering fields had met and were now swirling in the sky above like a hurricane. Winds whipped even harder and the lightning had grown in both severity and frequency.

Off the starboard bow, a massive black back of a great behemoth rose from beneath the surface. It crested and in a great spray of water, its flukes struck the surface killing most of the fish caught beneath.

“Can you stand?” Jiron asked his friend.

James put a hand on Jiron’s shoulder and rose. Though his knees knocked, he made it to his feet. “Get everyone as far back as you can,” he said. “We…” he began then stopped when an intense glowing object drew closer from the north. It took him but a moment to realize what it was.

“Miko!” he shouted with great joy.

Captain Anyn stood at the wheel angling his ship to come abreast with theirs. Miko had the Star in hand at the bow, its glow permeated the entire ship from bow to stern, even up to the very tip top of the main mast. Every inch of the ship resonated with the power of Morcyth.

“Come on!” Miko urged as the ship came close.

Scar, Potbelly and Shorty ran and with a foot on the rail, vaulted over the narrow gap between the two ships.

“Father Vickor!” Jiron yelled.

The priest stood between them and the now intensely sparking specks. Fields of destructive force emanated outward from them in periodic magical bursts. From three, tendrils extended over the side and into the water, feeding on the life swimming just below. A fourth grew dimmer with each burst while the fifth was all but spent. The sixth had long since dissolved into nothingness.

Glancing over his shoulder, Father Vickor nodded and started backing up.

Jiron helped James to the railing.

“I’m fine,” James said and shrugged off Jiron’s assistance.

Shorty and Scar stood on the other rail and held out their hands.

As James took their hands, the ship pitched again as another of the mammoth, whale-like creatures surfaced alongside. His feet slipped from the railing and if not for the strength of their grips, would have fallen to the water below. Slamming into the side of Captain Anyn’s ship, he panicked for a moment before they hauled him aboard.

Jiron and Father Vickor both had both been knocked to the deck. The ship listed heavily toward the stern.

“It’s sinking!” shouted Scar. “Get out of there.”

Getting to his feet, Jiron was again slammed back to the deck when a bolt of lightning struck the main mast.

Down on one knee and clothed in the power of his god, Father Vickor held out his mace and a protective shield sprang into being a moment before arcs of power from the specks struck in an explosion of light and energy.

“Can’t you do anything?”

James turned to Shorty, pointed to the churning shimmering fields above, and shook his head. “Not with that up there. Whatever I try will be corrupted and could prove fatal.”

Jiron had returned to his feet and had joined with Father Vickor. Together, they made for the railing.

“They must move faster,” murmured Scar.

As if heeding his warning, their two friends turned and raced for the railing.

Arcs of power slammed into Father Vickor’s shield as if loath to have them leave.

At the rail, Father Vickor leapt, propelled himself off the railing with a mighty kick, then sailed across the gap. Father Keller and Kip were there to catch him

Jiron leapt across and landed nimbly next to the Pit Masters.

Miko turned to Captain Anyn. “Get us out of here!”

Spinning the wheel, the ship angled away from the other.

The high priest turned to Azhan. “Now,” he said.

Summoning magic, the apprentice mage filled the sails.

“Aren’t you afraid of his spells being corrupted?” Shorty asked.

Miko shook his head and held for the Star. “So long as the power of Morcyth envelopes him and the area of effect of the spell, he will be shielded.”

The knifer looked to James for corroboration.

James nodded. “It’s true. Don’t ask me why or how.”

As they headed north, the enemy flagship sank beneath the waves. Above where it went under, specks continued sparking and fizzing, sending arcs of power outward in random directions. A few would strike the glow surrounding their ship. Other than an eruption of light and a concussion blast, they did nothing.

“How long is that going to go on?” Scar asked.

“Not much longer,” James replied. “It’s reaching critical mass.”

“Is that bad?”

“Was Tapu bad?”

The Pit Master blanched.

“Don’t worry,” James said, chuckling. “Doubt if it will be that bad. In fact, I think that…” Eyes widening, he trailed off as the back of a massive behemoth rose out of the ocean next to the rail. The ship pitched to side and still the creature rose from the depths. It then twisted and literally shoved the ship sideways.

Sailors screamed, everyone was thrown to the side; one of Captain Anyn’s men went overboard. The man hit the side of the creature then slipped down between the beast and the side of the hull.

Timbers along the port side snapped and the smaller mast broke off at the base. The main mast had a visible crack in it some four feet up from the deck.

“Kill the wind!” James yelled.

As the sails went slack, the behemoth sank beneath the surface. The ship listed noticeably to port.

“Captain!” a sailor hollered as he raced from below; the sound of panicked horses followed him up. “We are breached!”

Racing from the wheel, Captain Anyn flew down the hatchway.

The ship continued tilting further to port.

“We’re sinking?” asked Kip.

James turned to Miko. “Does the glow extend to the keel?”

The Star flared slightly. “It does now.”

Sailors blocked the hatchway.

“Out of my way,” James hollered as he headed in that direction.

Ever the helpful pair, Scar and Potbelly beat him to the congestion and threw sailors aside as they made a hole for James. He took the steps down and found the lower three to already be submerged. Captain Anyn stood at the bottom.

“We have to abandon ship,” Captain Anyn said.

“We do that and we die,” Scar said.

“The hole is too big,” he said. “Sinking is inevitable.”

“No,” James said, “it isn’t.” To Scar and Potbelly, he said, “Come on.”

“You’re going to die if you don’t get off this ship!”

Hopping down into the water, Jiron turned to the Captain. “Get back to the wheel, Captain, and keep us heading to safety.”

“But…”

“If the hole is patched,” James asked, “will we be okay?”

“Be heavy in the water with all this flooding,” he replied. “But we might make it.

“Then get back to the wheel.”

Captain Anyn eyed James skeptically, but nodded.

“Let’s get this patched,” James said and headed into the dark cargo hold. Jiron and the Pit Masters went with him.

He summoned his orb and eyed it carefully for several seconds. Once assured that Miko’s magic was in fact shielding his from the effects of the shimmering fields, he hurried forward.

Water poured in through a four-foot gap in the port side. Horses were panicking and pulling at their tethers. A few were down and raised their heads above the surface to keep from drowning.

James sent his senses to the gap and formed a shield to plug the leak.

“Tell Miko that the horses need attention,” he said to Scar. “I think a few broke their legs when that thing hit us.”

“Will do.”

“Jiron, make sure the hatchway is clear,” James said “and I’ll see about getting this water out of here.”

“Come on, Potbelly,” the knifer said. They returned to the hatchway and once it was clear, James formulated a spell and water shot from the hold, up through the hatchway, and over the side. In a few minutes, the water level had dropped to ankle deep at which point James ended the spell.

Back on deck, he gazed out to where the specks continued to spark and arc in ever greater frenzy. “Hold on,” he mumbled to himself. They needed to put as much distance between them and the specks as quickly as possible.

Azhan had a light breeze going into the sails, just enough so the main mast wouldn’t crack the rest of the way. James reinforced it with a shield and told him to increase the force of the wind.

“Yes, Master.”

The ship picked up speed.

He then went to where Captain Anyn stood at the wheel.

“How long to the nearest land?”

“Less than an hour I think,” the captain replied. “We’re not far from the mainland.”

“Good.”

The sky shimmered from horizon to horizon. At the focal point where the trio of shimmering fields had converged the water was a frothy tempest of crazed fish twisting, leaping and fighting one another. The intensity of the prickling sensation assailing him continued to increase though they were moving away.

He eyed Jiron. “We’re not moving fast enough.”

“Doing the best we can, considering.”

“I know,” he sighed.

Lightning lit up the sky; some flashed among the clouds, others struck the water. Each was followed with a thunderous crash that rolled over them and resonated deep within their chests.

James felt a, sudden, sharp increase in the prickling.

Whump!

As one, the specks detonated simultaneously. A good portion of the water beneath was vaporized; steam shot to the sky in a massive cloud.

“Well,” Shorty said, “that wasn’t so bad.”

Then the concussion wave hit; the ship shuddered.

Men were thrown to the deck, timbers cracked and a loud snapping sound foreshadowed the main mast tipping to the side. Ropes snapped, men scrambled to pull those unconscious out of the way and all watched as the mast hit the deck. For a second it balanced precariously on the rail, then the jagged, lower end rose as the top dipped into the water. The railing snapped under the weight and the main mast slid into the ocean.

Jiron got to his feet and looked around. He saw Scar and Potbelly helping Father Vickor to his feet. Father Keller hovered around Eddra who looked to have fared better than most.

“James?” he asked, when he failed to see his friend.

The ship started listing again to port.

“James!”

“Over here!” Kip hollered.

He sat against the forecastle with the Dark Mage’s head cradled in his lap.

James’ hair was matted with blood; his face was very pale.

“What happened?”

“He,” began Kip as Miko rushed over, “Reverend Father, he hit the wall pretty hard.”

Miko was at his friend’s side in an instant.

“How is he?” Jiron asked.

Concentrating for a moment, Miko turned to Jiron and replied, “Not good.”

Jiron grabbed onto the railing to steady himself as the deck tilted to a precarious level.

“The hold!” he cried. With James unconscious, that means the hole… “Azhan, Hikai!”

The two apprentices were there in a flash.

“Come with me,” he said.

“But our Master?” Hikai asked.

“Will die if we do not move fast,” Jiron replied. “Now come.”

Propelling the two apprentices toward the hatchway leading the hold, he said, “The barrier he put up to shore the hull vanished when he fell unconscious. You two have to put up another.”

Azhan paused at the hatchway. “But we have never before done that.”

“I don’t care,” Jiron said. Grabbing both by the shoulders, he pushed them down the steps. “Fix it or your master dies.”

The water was higher than it had been before. The hold was almost flooded and the horses were neighing in stark terror. Less than half the heads of what there should be were visible. Jiron couldn’t worry about that now.

“Fix it in your mind,” Jiron said, thinking of how James had described how he did it, “and then have the magic make it happen.”

“It’s not that simple,” argued Hikai.

Jiron pulled a knife. “Do it, or I kill you right here!”

Azhan rapid fired a string of Empirical words to Hikai, who glanced to Jiron, licked his lips nervously, then nodded. The two apprentices worked their way deeper into the hold.

“Shorty!” Jiron hollered.

When the knifer appeared at the top of the steps, he said, “Be ready to abandon ship if this doesn’t work.”

Nodding, Shorty said, “Scar’s already working on it. Captain figures we’ll go under in less than ten minutes if they can’t fix the leak.”

“See about organizing a bucket line when they have the leaks plugged.”

“Will do.”

The two apprentices were lost in the dark of the hold. Jiron could no longer see them. A minute ticked by and the water continued to rise.

“We better get off this ship,” Shorty said when he returned. “It’s listing badly.” Now listing nearly twenty degrees less than true, it was necessary to lean or brace against something in order to remain upright. “They aren’t going to fix it.”

Jiron gazed up at him, then back into the hold.

“Azhan!” he hollered. “Hikai!”

Several seconds ticked by then he hollered again. “Azhan!”

Then there was motion from the dark recesses of the hold. Hikai swam back to the steps.

“Azhan has done it!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “The main hole is fixed.”

“Well done,” praised Jiron.

“But he says there is much damage to the hull in general.”

“What does that mean?” Jiron demanded.

“It means he is unable to create patches for every leak,” he explained. “The damage is too extensive.”

“How bad does it remain?” Shorty asked.

Hikai shrugged. “I do not know.”

“If the main hole is plugged, we might be able to limp to land. Shorty, tell the captain we need every available bucket and man to carry them.”

Jiron laid a hand on Hikai’s shoulder. “Well done. Now, go help Azhan.”

Hikai bobbed his head and pushed himself off the steps and swam back to Azhan.

Leaving the hold, Jiron returned back up to the deck.

“I tell you the ship is lost!” Captain Anyn yelled at Shorty.

“They have the hole plugged, Captain,” Jiron said. “All we need to do is bail the water until we get to land.”

The captain rounded on Jiron and shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “We have no main mast, no secondary mast. Coupled with the way she’s listing we aren’t going anywhere. Don’t you understand? We are dead in the water!”

Jiron grabbed a bucket from where it laid on the deck and forced it into Captain Anyn’s hands. “Have your men start bailing.” When the captain hesitated, Jiron yelled, “Now!” At his elbow stood Tinok. “See that they are diligent in their work.”

“You got it.” Taking Scar, Potbelly and Shorty in tow, Tinok escorted the captain to round up his crew.

“He’s right, you know.”

Turning to Father Vickor, Jiron shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Then why make them do it?”

“Because he irritates me.”

Father Vickor searched the knifer’s eyes a moment, then laughed.

Jiron grinned. “Well, maybe in part. Mainly it’s so that the ship will be as seaworthy as possible when he awakens.” As one, they turned to where Miko continued administering to an unconscious James.

Chapter Forty-Six

The long dusty road wound through the foothills. Trees grew densely along the way allowing a traveler to see little more than up to the next bend in the road. There was a touch of coldness to the air, like a chill one would find early on a crisp, spring day.

Frist a turn to the right, then another to the left, he made his way along the road. Rays of the midday sun would intermittently pierce the thick canopy overhead creating surreal beams of light contrasting the shadowy dark.

A breeze gently wafted along the route, ruffling his hair. An errant strand slipped its position which he absentmindedly brushed back into place.

His feet were sore and his stomach was empty. Drifting along with the breeze came the odor of sausages cooking over an open fire. Stomach cramping, he quickened his pace.

As he rounded the next bend, an old-timey country church came into view. Dating from the eighteen hundreds, the once white structure had seen better days; a good portion of the paint had stripped away. The old steeple sat tilted, and where a bell had once hung was now the province of a bevy of fowl.

A wisp of smoke rising from behind the church brought the mouth-watering aroma that he sought. Walking through the long grass, he made his way around back.

Standing at a grill with tongs in hand stood someone he hadn’t seen in several years and had in fact hoped to never see again. Four and a half feet in height with skin that’s a dark greenish color, he wore a blue apron that had the words “Kiss the Cook” embroidered across the front. A crazy felt hat sat atop its head and he smiled as James approached.

“Want a dog?”

Using the tongs, he turned the four brats so they wouldn’t burn.

James nodded.

Igor nodded to the wooden picnic table nearby. “Have a seat,” he said. “Be ready in a minute.”

On the table was a two liter of Diet Pepsi, a couple glasses filled with ice, and the standard set of condiments and sides one would expect at a picnic where brats were the main course. The potato salad looked especially good.

Filling a glass with the soda, he drank it down. It felt so good after not having any for so long. “Man, that’s good.”

“Drink it all if you like,” Igor said. “We have plenty.”

James refilled his glass then glanced around the church’s backyard. “We?”

“You and I.” He motioned toward the buns. “Get yours ready and help yourself to whatever you fancy.”

“Thanks.”

His mind reeled with the ramifications of this meeting. Readying two buns, he put a line of ketchup down a single side of each, spooned a healthy portion of the potato salad on his plate and then grabbed a bag of chips. The fact that Igor was here couldn’t bode well; no, not well at all.

“Here you go,” Igor said, bringing plate with the four sizzling brats to the table.

James took one, put it in his bun.

“Just ketchup?”

James nodded as he took a big bite. “I prefer to taste the meat, not the extras.”

Igor shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He on the other hand piled his brat with so many condiments and extras that the brat was all but buried.

James chewed slowly as he eyed the creature across from him. He had yet to figure out just what he was, and his angle. True, he had been instrumental in his coming to this world and becoming perhaps the most powerful mage of the age. But his motives behind doing so had always been puzzling. Was he a good guy, bad guy, or just had a vendetta out against Dmon’Li? On the surface he leaned toward Igor being good, but there was no way of knowing for sure. Frankly, James didn’t care, he merely wanted nothing more to do with him. Life got complicated whenever he was around.

“Beautiful place, isn’t it?”

“Very peaceful,” James agreed.

“Been abandoned for some years, sorry to say.”

“Oh? Were you here in its heyday?”

Igor shook his head. “No. But I do know that the people here were good, hardworking folks who took their faith seriously and strived to live according to their principles.”

“What happened to them?”

“Sometime around the turn of the twentieth century, their crops suffered a blight and most were forced to move to greener pastures. The community never recovered.”

James finished his first brat then started in on his second. “Why am I here?”

“Can’t two friends share a meal without there being a reason?”

The look James shot him said he knew this meeting was anything but social. “Are we friends?”

“Well, we certainly are not enemies.”

James kept quiet while he slowly ate his second brat. There were thousands of questions demanding answers, but knew from past dealings that Igor would tell him only what he wanted him to know, and nothing more. Another reason he wanted to be shed of this creature. Rather than waste his breath, he waited for what would follow.

Seeming to understand his thoughts, Igor chuckled.

“You grew up in a church, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” James replied. “My family has a long history with the church.”

“But you’ve never been that serious about it?”

“Is that a question or a fact?”

Igor shrugged. “A little of both, perhaps.”

“I can tell you I’ve been a little less serious about it since coming here,” James said matter-of-factly. “Gods here tend to be…” he paused a moment before saying, “meddlesome.”

Laughing, Igor said, “True enough. It’s a young world, and as such humans are more easily swayed. Some to the good, others to evil.”

“Which is better?”

“That, my friend, is a matter of perspective. I’m sure those following an evil god would say that to do evil is better, while those serving good would argue the point.”

James used a chip to scoop up some potato salad, chewed it thoughtfully, then asked, “What does this have to do with me?”

“How would you like to start a temple?”

Eyes widening, James chuckled. “Me? Miko would be better suited.”

“I didn’t say you had to run it,” Igor clarified. “A temple to Morcyth would be fine.”

“And is it to be a grandiose cathedral? Something to last the ages and inspire awe and reverence?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what?”

Igor paused a moment then said, “Think of it more as akin to Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.”

James chuckled. “I always loved that song.”

Igor nodded. “I know.”

“So, what? Set up a Chautauqua tent outside some town?”

“If you like.”

“Why?”

Igor shot him a stern gaze. “Because it needs doing,”

“But there are more important concerns right now than setting up some useless temple. An army is invading, the world seems to be coming unglued, my family is off on a ship and I don’t know whether or not they will be safe, and you want me to cool my heels and become a preacher?”

“Again, I didn’t say it had to be you,” Igor replied, patience wearing thin, “just that you need to be involved. And your family is safe. They will make it to Cardri without incident, so do not worry.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“Do it or not,” Igor said irritated. “As always, you humans set the course of your own destiny.”

He waved his hand and the world faded away.

“James?”

Miko’s face filled his view as his eyes opened.

“What happened?” he asked in confusion. It took a moment to realize that he was no longer in that other place.

“You were knocked unconscious when your spells exploded,” Kip said.

Sitting up, he looked around at the ship still glowing with the power of Morcyth. He saw that he laid on a pallet next to Eddra, then noticed the missing main mast and how the ship listed to port.

“The hole…!”

Miko laid a calming hand upon his shoulder. “Azhan has it under control.” Then to Father Vickor he said, “Get Jiron.”

“Where are we?”

“Still far from land,” Miko replied.

“And dead in the water,” Jiron said as he approached.

James glanced up at the sky and saw no sign of the shimmering fields.

“They disappeared after your spells exploded.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That makes sense.”

Jiron knelt on one knee next to him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired and a dull headache,” he said as he ran his fingers gingerly over his scalp. “Other than that, fine.”

“We need your help,” Jiron explained.

James arched an eyebrow questioningly at his friend. “What now?”

“Well first off, Azhan is doing his best but the ship sustained far too much damage when your spells went off for him to fix it. We’re taking on water.”

“We have Captain Anyn and his crew bailing,” Scar explained as he joined them. “They’ve been at it for half a day and are on the verge of exhaustion.”

“With Azhan plugging the holes, he’s not able to call the winds,” Jiron said. “Even if he did, we don’t have any masts left standing and the endeavor would be pointless.”

James nodded. “So you need me to get the ship moving?”

“If you think you can,” Scar replied. “Otherwise we will have no choice but to abandon ship.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Taking Jiron’s hand, he pulled himself to his feet. A bit unsteady, but they felt like they would support him. “How far away is the land?”

“Captain Anyn seemed to think over an hour.”

“I doubt I can sustain the magical requirements to push this entire ship through the water like I did with Anyn’s dinghy.”

“Any ideas?”

“Give me a moment.”

He walked the ship and considered the problem. At the hatch leading to the hold, a line of sailors transferring buckets of water from one to the next sent a steady stream overboard one bucket at a time.

Only ways to propel a ship is either with sail, which was no longer an option, or an engine which they did not have nor the propellers to go with it. He thought he could maybe throw one together magically, but that felt a bit complicated and to maintain the concentration for that for over an hour didn’t seem possible. It needed to be something simple with few moving parts. Then it came to him.

“How about a paddlewheel?”

“What’s that?” Jiron asked.

“Think of a waterwheel but with paddles instead of buckets.”

“Will it work?” Scar asked.

He thought a moment, then nodded. “I think so.”

Moving to the stern, he passed by the bucket brigade as they continued bailing the water from the hold. The looks they shot him were anything but pleasant. The fact that Tinok and Shorty stood nearby with the former using a knife to idly digging dirt from beneath his fingernails might have had something to do with it.

Once at the back of the ship, James closed his eyes and imagined an old Mississippi paddlewheel. He first fashioned a spell to bring into being two long support arms that stretched from the rear of the ship out and down a ways. Next came the paddlewheel; a central spoke around which he created a dozen long, thin shields to act as paddles. A final spell to start the thing in motion and it began to propel the ship across the water.

“Fascinating.”

He turned to Jiron and nodded. “Ships using these were quite popular where I come from many years ago.”

Miko extended his glow to encompass the paddlewheel so as to avoid attracting the shimmering field.

A cheer sprang up from those on the bucket line once they realized the ship was moving.

Azhan and Hikai were staring at the wheel with rapt attention. He could almost hear the whirring of their thoughts as they sought to figure out how he did that. In no small part he was worried about having them around. With every spell they witnessed, possibilities of what can be opened up for them. He dreaded what he might unleash on this world through them.

The vision of Igor remained strong, not dissipating as had happened so many times before. A temple? He still found it hard to figure out the logic of that request. Didn’t this world already have more than enough? Sighing, he knew he would do it. Igor had yet to steer him wrong and to the depths of his being, knew that this had to be of paramount importance for the god-like being to approach him.

He worried about what might be going on that he had yet to learn that prompted Igor to make such a request. Did it have something to do with the shimmering field? The invaders? Or is something else on the horizon that was even worse? He tried not to contemplate that.

He noticed Jiron gazing longingly off toward the northwest.

“Missing them?”

“We’ll be back together by nightfall.”

“What?”

Jiron turned to James. “That was the last thing I said to them, ‘We’ll be back together by nightfall.’”

James laid a hand on his shoulder. “They are safe and will make it to Cardri without incident.”

“How do you know this?”

“A mutual friend of ours told me.”

Momentary confusion was quickly replaced with understanding.

“And that’s not all.”

Miko joined them and he related what Igor had told him. It took nearly two hours for them to make landfall and during that time, they argued about the logic of acquiescing to his request. Jiron wanted to head immediately for Cardri to reunite with his wife and daughter, and damn anyone or anything that got in his way.

“No!” Jiron finally said. “I will not do it.”

“Look,” James said, “Igor has never steered us wrong. If not for bringing me here, you would have no wife and daughter. If not for training you and introducing you to The Pits, you would not be the person you are today, respected and a leader among your peers.

“Time and again he has done things that at first made no sense but in the end worked for our betterment.”

James laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It’s a matter of do we trust him?”

“I don’t.”

“Would you trust Kehlan?” he asked.

Kehlan of course had been the guise Igor had used when he had found Jiron as a boy and trained him for The Pits. He had been a mentor and friend to Jiron, had taken him off the streets and made him more than he could ever have been on his own.

Jiron remained stubborn.

“I can’t do this on my own,” James said. “We need you.”

Silence hung between them. “Are you positive they will be safe?”

“So Igor said and I believe him.”

“As do I,” agreed Miko.

James could see the stony fortress of his resistance crumble away.

“Where do we do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“For how long are we to continue?”

James shrugged, “That remains to be seen.”

The ship lurched to a halt as the keel ran aground on the shoreline. A shout of thanksgiving sprang from those on the bucket line.

“So,” James said, “are you in?”

Jiron glanced from James, to Miko, then back before nodding.

James breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. Slapping his friend on the back, he said, “Great. Now, let’s go build us a temple.”

Story to continue in

Book Three of

Travail of the Dark Mage

(as yet untitled)

Appendix I

Bones and Daggers

-Each player begins with 10 Daggers and 5 Bones.

-Object of the Game: Capture all the enemy’s Bones.

-Playing field is typically a square board 12 x 12 though in some areas this varies.

-At beginning, each player can place his pieces on any spot and in any configuration in the three rows closest to them.

-Object of the game is to take all the opposing player's Bones.

-Daggers can capture either the opponent’s Daggers and Bones. Bones can capture nothing.

-when captured, the Bone is placed beneath their captor and the Dagger becomes a Long Dagger, able to move 2 spaces.

-each subsequent capture adds another move.

-the default limit is three moves to a Long Dagger. If players wish the number to be different, they must agree upon it before play begins. When no limit is imposed, players can get Long Daggers with staggering movement capabilities.

-there are no restrictions upon movement.

-Bones always move one.

If an opponent’s Long Dagger is captured, the top piece is placed beneath the capturing Long Dagger allowing it another additional move, and all of the previously "captured" Bones beneath it are returned to play. They can be placed anywhere along the player's back row.

So if a player captures a Long Dagger having 2 captured pieces beneath it, the top piece would be placed beneath the capturing Long Dagger, and the two captured Bones would return to play on the capturing player’s back row.

Sayings:

-'Bleeding in the Gutter' Player is down to his last bone and defeat is imminent.

Appendix II

Preview of the first book in the new series entitled

The Improbable Adventures of

Scar and Potbelly

This book has yet to be titled

-1-

Smoke hung heavy in the common room of The Gnashing Teeth. A seedier dive on the waterfront, the Teeth held the reputation of being the hairy, unwashed armpit of Castin, a large port on the Sorba Sea. Those who pass through her doors were the worst of the worst and as likely as not, blood would flow as easily as the ale.

Already this evening, two men had tested fate and lost; one had been thrown out with a knife wound in his side that most considered fatal. He had deserved it or so the bystanders would say if any dared ask; none would. The other had his head cracked open by a bottle. He currently laid comatose beneath a table where three others finished the game he was caught cheating at. And all this before the sun had even reached the horizon.

A man stalked the streets of Castin with purpose; a dagger deftly tucked in the sleeve of his jacket. A simple twist and forward jerk of his arm would find its hilt in his hand, ready for whatever mayhem may be required.

Those in the street who happened to meet his gaze quickly lowered theirs and backed out of his way. The hardness in his eyes and the purposeful stride warned all but the foolish it would be best to leave this man alone.

He hunted. There was blood needing to be shed and come hell or high water it would flow before the last rays of the setting sun faded from the world. A wrong must be righted, a slight must be avenged; a life must end.

“Are you sure he said to meet him here?”

Having disembarked the galley upon which they had booked passage, Scar and Potbelly walked along the pier until coming to the dockside road. A hundred feet to the left and down a short alley found them before The Gnashing Teeth. Three people languished around the door; whether they were alive or dead was impossible to tell.

“Yes,” Scar replied. “We sail in the morning and either we meet him here, now, or our journey will be for naught.”

Moving to the door, Potbelly took the lead and pulled the handle. As the door swung open, a hand reached out from one of the nearer comatose bodies to grip his ankle. The suddenness of it made him jump but the hand failed to relinquish its grip. It nearly caused him to lose his balance.

“What the…,” he cried, startled.

“Coins, good sir,” a raspy voice begged. “Could ya’ spare a coin fer an old beggar?”

Potbelly yanked back his leg but the hand refused to yield.

One of Scar’s two long swords leapt from its sheath, its blade came to rest upon the beggar’s exposed wrist.

“Let go,” he said, “or lose your hand.”

The hand quickly released its grip and vanished back into the soiled rags the beggar wore.

“Coins…”

“Out of our way,” Scar said. Sheathing his blade, he strode with Potbelly into The Gnashing Teeth.

A few faces turned their way upon entering, but for the most part, they were ignored.

Smoke filled the common room. The way it melded with the rank smell of unwashed bodies and a hundred other unpleasantnesses gave the Teeth a fetid atmosphere. Off to one side near the wall, sat a table with but one occupant; passed out and still clutching his mug of ale.

Scar motioned toward it and they headed over. When they arrived, Scar nudged the table’s occupant with his boot, tipping him to the side and on to the floor. He took the man’s seat and waved for the serving woman.

Cold eyes that held not the least bit of humanity stared out from beneath curly locks matted to her sweaty forehead when she arrived.

“What do you want,” she grumbled.

“Well…” began Scar.

“Ale?” she asked, interrupting him.

Scar got that look saying he was a bit annoyed and trouble would not be far off.

“Two, please,” Potbelly replied quickly.

She grunted and returned to the bar.

“This could be the worst dive we’ve ever been in.”

Turning to his best friend and comrade, Scar nodded. “It’s worse than Jake’s over in Tillman.”

Potbelly laughed, then glanced to the floor where the table’s previous occupant still lay. “At least Jake removes those who can no longer drink.”

Scar motioned toward a body pushed all the way against the wall not ten feet from where they sat. “Or breathe.”

The waitress returned and plunked down two mugs, not caring that she spilled a goodly portion upon the table. Potbelly handed her a couple coppers. She took the coins, eyed each in turn, first Scar then Potbelly, as if they were about to rob the place. Then turned about without a word and headed for another table.

“Wonder how many bodies she accounts for in a year?”

Scar watched her leave, then turned back to Potbelly. “If it’s less than a dozen I’d be surprised.” He picked up his mug for a drink but paused upon spying bits of crusted-on material coating most of the rim. Using part of his sleeve, he wiped off a section before taking a drink.

“I’m still not sure we aren’t on some wild goose chase,” Potbelly stated.

“Look,” Scar replied, “for the hundredth time, Old Jim said that this was on the up and up.”

“Old Jim is crazy,” Potbelly argued. “Not exactly there if you know what I mean. There’s a reason he’s the town kook.”

Scar pulled out an old, ragged piece of cloth and held it up so as not to be noticed by the others in the bar. “He was right about where to find this.”

Potbelly rolled his eyes. “Under a rock in the old cemetery? I bet you a gold the old kook drew the thing himself, put it there, and is now laughing at our gullibility.”

Slipping it back in his shirt, Scar just shook his head. “When Tork arrives, we’ll know the truth about it.”

“If there even is a Tork.”

“I tell you I met him this morning,” Scar said. “He’ll be here.”

Potbelly wasn’t fully convinced.

“Yesterday when we arrived, we sent a message to the local baker saying ‘Three loaves for Tork,’ and that they were to be delivered to the Golden Sunrise. Just like Old Jim said to. And when you were off with that barmaid, Tork showed up and set up this meeting.”

“It all sounds hinky to me.”

One day, Old Jim sold Scar part of a map to a buried treasure and told him there were two other sections, each held by compatriots of his. One was Tork here in Castin and the other lived as a hermit in a hut just a two-day sail away and short ride up the mountain. Comrades of long ago before hair turned white and shoulders drooped with age.

Shouting broke out at a table two removed from theirs; three men leapt to their feet as the table was thrust aside and metal flashed. An enraged man of middling years sliced with his knife at a younger, dark haired man.

Dancing back, the younger man sought in vain to avoid the attack; a line of red opened up along his abdomen.

“That could be bad,” commented Scar.

Potbelly sipped his ale and watched with some interest as the younger man drew his short sword and lunged forward. The older man easily dodged aside and swiped backhanded with his knife slicing a three inch long furrow just above the young man’s elbow.

“A silver on the knifer.”

Potbelly shook his head. “That’s a fool’s bet. He’ll kill that younger man.” Having fought in the Pits for several years now, he could easily tell that the older man outclassed his opponent by a goodly margin.

As the two combatants closed again, the third man at the table reached out, grabbed each by the hair on the back of the head, knocked their heads together and said, “Enough!”

The older man turned on him flushed with anger. His knife held at the ready.

“A silver says he strikes.”

“Done,” Potbelly replied then waited to see how it would unfold.

“Put it down before you get killed,” the third man said. Clearly the senior of the three, he bore an air of command and surety.

Whispered betting from throughout the common room could be heard in the brief silence that followed.

When the short sword dipped down, both curses and laughter joined the exchange of coins as losers paid winners. Scar tossed Potbelly a silver.

“Thought for sure he was going to do it.”

Taking the coin, Potbelly eyed it, “And glad I am you did.”

Scar flashed him a sour look before laughing. “Next time.”

The three men righted their table and the knifer bound the wound on his arm with a dirty rag. When they sat back down and it looked as if no further altercations was in the offing, the common room resumed its customary buzz in wait for the next time. For sure as metal parted flesh, in The Gnashing Teeth, trouble was a sure bet.

Another ale followed the first as they waited for Tork to arrive. A group of men threw daggers at a charcoal “X” drawn on the wall some fifteen feet away. The object was to have your dagger strike as close to where the two lines crossed as possible.

Daggers flew, one man laughed while the others cursed and paid him his winners.

Potbelly eyed the game with interest. “How long do we have?”

A glance out the window showed the sun nearing the horizon. “Not long,” Scar replied. “Tork said he’d be here around sundown.”

Pulling out his knife, Potbelly got up and said, “Be right back.”

The men grew quiet as Potbelly arrived. He held up three coppers, one man nodded and motioned for him to take his place. Potbelly place his foot within the charcoal circle drawn on the floor and readied his knife.

He paused, drew back his knife, and threw. Tumbling end over end but once, it embedded itself just a hair’s width above the junction of the two lines.

Four others threw but none came close. Potbelly took their coins and made to rejoin Scar, but the men insisted they have another throw. Potbelly agreed. When he moved to place his foot in the charcoal circle, one of the men held up his hand and shook his head.

With his foot, the man scraped away the charcoal circle. He then moved another five paces farther back and drew another circle. With a grin, he motioned for Potbelly to take his position.

“As you wish,” Potbelly said. “This time for half a silver each?”

“Done.”

Placing his foot within the circle again, he raised his knife, focused on the target, and threw. This time it hit dead center. He turned to the man with a satisfied grin. “Beat that.”

Six men threw as well and though they came close, none matched Potbelly’s proficiency. Collecting the three silvers in winnings, he turned to head back to the table.

“Another throw,” the man said.

Potbelly saw trouble in the man’s gaze; he shook his head. “Two’s enough for me.”

The man’s knife came up. “I insist.”

“Now look,” Potbelly began, “I don’t want trouble. We had a fair test of skill and you lost. It would be best if you left it at that.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Scar get to his feet and slowly move their way.

“We think we’ve been cheated,” the man said. “Ain’t no way the gods are going to favor a man two times running on the ‘toss.”

“Cheated?” Potbelly asked. “How?”

The man failed to reply. Instead, he said, “We want our money back.”

“Not going to happen. You lost. Had I lost, I would have gladly handed over my coins. But I didn’t.” His hand moved to rest upon the hilt of his sword as he faced off with the man.

The five other men who had tossed against Potbelly drew their knives. Patrons of the Teeth backed away as conversations died throughout the common room. From back-corner whispers drifted the sound of men placing bets; whether on the odds of a fight breaking out or whether Potbelly would survive the coming clash of arms wasn’t clear.

As the six men maneuvered to encircle Potbelly, the hiss of a sword leaving its scabbard broke the silence.

“Is your life worth three bits of silver?” Scar asked as the tip of his sword pressed into the back of the man’s neck who had accused Potbelly of cheating.

The knifers froze.

Potbelly drew his sword.

“I believe I asked you a question,” Scar said, voice full of menace. “It won’t be repeated.”

In answer, the man’s knife fell to the floor. As Scar’s gaze roved over the others, their knives too were dropped to the floor.

“It was a fair ‘toss, right?” Scar asked; he punctuated the word ‘right’ by pressing his blade into the man’s neck a little bit harder. A droplet of blood welled forth and dripped down through sweat and dirt.

Licking his lips, the man replied, “Yes.”

“All right then.”

He removed the sword from the man’s neck and slid it back into its scabbard.

“Nicely done.”

Turning toward the voice, Scar’s face lit up. “Tork!”

Five feet nothing, a patch over his left eye and stooped with age, Tork was hardly an impressive sight. In his right hand he leaned upon a cane.

“This him?” Potbelly asked.

“That he is,” Scar replied. He gestured to their table. “Shall we?”

Tork nodded and shuffled over and sat.

“Ale for our friend!” Scar hollered to the barmaid. Another round was shortly delivered.

“Thank you,” Tork said as he took a sip.

“Always thought it would be Jimbo coming to lay claim to the map.”

“He felt it best if we took care of it for him,” Scar lied. “He can’t get around like he used to.”

“Who can?” Tork took another sip.

Scar drained his ale, called for another and nearly emptied that mug as well. “Do you have it?”

“Not on me, no,” he explained. “One my age cannot go around with such things on my person.” He eyed Scar, then Potbelly. “I believe there was mention of some sort of remuneration?”

Scar produced a small coin purse and set it before the old man.

Tork hefted it, glanced at the gold within, nodded and then placed it within his shirt. “Come with me.”

He used his cane to get to his feet, wobbled there a moment, then started for the door.

Downing the rest of his ale, Scar followed with Potbelly right behind.

Outside, shadows had grown long; the sun had begun to dip below the horizon.

“We understand that there is yet a third piece of this map?” Potbelly asked.

“You are correct, young fellow,” Tork said. “Matlin’s his name. Likes to be alone; never was one for the company of others. Think he took to living by himself; but haven’t heard from him for many a year.”

“Old Jim said he lived just up the mountain from a village called Wayside?”

The old man shrugged. “Possibly. Last I heard he was somewhere near there. But like I said, he isn’t one that enjoys being disturbed.”

He shuffled along at an agonizingly slow pace. From a side alley ahead, a man emerged and turned toward them. It was clear they were his destination.

Tork spied him, came to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. “You boys in trouble?”

Scar shook his head. “Not that we know of.”

“Never been here before,” Potbelly added. “Only been in town less than a day.”

Scar eyed the old man. “Why?”

The question had barely left his lips before he noticed the man coming their way. The set of his jaw, the steel of his gaze and the fact that his left hand clutched a dagger said this was the trouble to which the old man referred.

“Let me deal with him,” Tork said.

“Gladly,” Potbelly replied.

“Who is he?”

Scar’s question remained unanswered as the man drew near.

“Out of the way, Tork,” the man demanded.

Raising his cane, Tork placed the end against the man’s chest. “What business do you have here, Verin?”

Verin pointed to Potbelly. “This man sullied my Adele.” Grabbing the cane, he made to thrust it aside but the length of wood flashed brightly and knocked his hand away. A second flash forced him back a step.

“Lay not your hands upon me or mine!”

“Beware, Old Man.”

“No, you beware. Your quarrel is with him, not me. Keep that in mind lest you rue this night.”

Verin looked on the point of spitting the old man with his knife right then and there. But something in Tork’s gaze made him take a step back and to the side.

Tork turned back to Scar and Potbelly. “If you survive, come to my shack.”

“Where can we find it?” Scar asked, never once taking his eyes off Verin.

Pointing along the street ahead of them, he said, “Out past the edge of town. Look for the split oak.”

He turned back to Verin, grunted and muttered under his breath about the dregs of society, the old man then continued up the street.

Scar and Potbelly made to follow but Verin barred their way. His knife blade was pointed at Potbelly.

“You have an accounting, dog.”

“I’m sure I have no idea about what it is you seem dead set to get killed over,” Potbelly said. “I don’t know any Adele.”

Verin’s face turned red. “This afternoon, at the Keg and Bottle….”

“Oh.”

Scar turned to his friend. “Oh?”

Potbelly glanced to Verin. “The barmaid?”

“My Betrothed!”

“Took her for a tumble did you?” asked Scar.

“I did not know she was your betrothed,” argued Potbelly. “She definitely never mentioned you, only the coin she required.”

“You lie!” spat Verin. “Adele is as pure as the falling snow.”

“Man, you don’t know her very well if you think that,” Potbelly countered. “She did things that would make…”

Verin screeched an inarticulate sound and shot forward, knife thrusting for Potbelly’s midsection.

Scar danced out of the way while Potbelly stepped to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade. When the man slashed sideways, Potbelly blocked the attack with his forearm then knocked him backward with a kick in the stomach.

Verin stumbled, nearly hit the ground but recovered quickly. Upon righting himself, he found Potbelly with sword and dagger in hand.

“Need any help?” offered Scar.

“Hardly think so,” Potbelly replied. Then to Verin, “Sir, I apologize to you and your betrothed. I truly did not know she belonged to you.”

Verin ignored his attempt at reconciliation. He stepped forward with an overhand hack.

Potbelly easily deflected the downward thrust with his sword. Managed to turn Verin nearly ninety degrees and for an added insult, kicked him in the seat of his pants causing him to lose his balance and hit the ground.

“Now,” he began, “I do not wish to kill you. You can’t win; why don’t you just accept my apology and live another day?”

“Yes,” agreed Scar. “I’m sure your Adele would much prefer you alive.” He glanced to Potbelly then noticed the altercation had drawn the attention of some of the townsfolk. One ran off toward The Gnashing Teeth.

Verin got back to his feet.

“You cannot defile my betrothed and live,” he cried. Rushing forward, he again tried to stab Potbelly. This time, Potbelly met the attack with his dagger; caught the blade between his blade and the crossguard, and twisted. Verin’s knife fell to the ground.

The man stepped back with Potbelly’s sword pressing into his abdomen. “I’ve had enough of this. Either accept my apology…or die.”

“Watch out!” came Scar’s warning, but too late.

A man ran from the crowd, dove, and crashed into Potbelly. Both men tumbled to the ground.

The sound of Scar’s twin swords leaving their scabbards came a split-second before the crash of metal on metal. Another from the crowd had rushed Scar with a short sword.

Scar knocked it aside once, twice and then on the man’s third lightning quick attack, followed with a thrust of his second sword taking him in the right shoulder. Not a killing blow but one that left his sword arm useless and the man’s short sword in the dirt.

Potbelly had regained his feet and the two friends stood back to back in an ever growing ring of opponents. Sword, maces, knives, more than a dozen men encircled them.

“Killers!”

“Murderers!”

“Thieves!”

Two women had come to the man’s aid and were even now tearing his shirt and seeing to the wound.

Verin had by this time reclaimed his knife and was whipping the others up into a killing frenzy.

“They soiled my Adele!” he shouted. Cries of outrage followed.

“Her honor must be avenged!”

“Kill them both!” a man shouted.

Scar faced a man towering over a foot taller than himself. The giant of a man bore a mace as long as his long swords having a head the size of a pumpkin dotted with three inch spikes. He swung it with an ease belying its obvious weight.

“Come on,” Scar said, beckoning with a sword taunting him. “You wish to be the first to die this night?”

With a cry, the giant of a man leapt forward. Using both hands, he swung a powerful strike at Scar’s midsection.

Stepping back and to the side he waited for the massive weapon to pass through where he had just stood, then shot forward. One sword took the man’s arm just below the wrist, severing flesh and nerves. Fingers grew slack and the mace fell. As the man cried out, Scar’s second sword came in from the side to rake across his chest; opening up shirt and flesh. The tip scrapped across ribs and blood flowed free.

The crowd stood stunned as Scar twisted and knocked the giant back on his butt with a roundhouse kick to the chest. For a moment, silence reigned supreme. Then with a roar, the armed men rushed forward en masse.

Verin was the first to reach Potbelly. His attack lacked any finesse as had the previous ones. This time, Potbelly didn’t pull any punches. He twisted, allowed Verin to close and sunk his knife into the man’s chest. As he pulled the knife free, Potbelly struck him in the side of the head with the pommel of his sword. Even as another man wielding a sword closed with the pit fighter, Verin fell to the ground dead.

Blades danced as Potbelly with his sword and dagger stood back to back with Scar and his twin long swords. Their dance of death claimed man after man and still they kept coming. Then as Scar faced off against two men with swords, he caught sight of movement atop a nearby building.

“We got archers,” he announced.

Potbelly felled a knifer with a slit across the throat then ran a macer through with his sword. “Time to go.”

“Break left…” Scar said. Swords flashed and a mace was blocked on his right, a sword was deflected on his left then a quick follow up thrust dropped the macer. “Now!”

Both swords thrust at the swordsman causing him to stumble backward to avoid being run through. His withdrawal created an opening and the pit fighters raced off.

An arrow struck the ground where Potbelly had stood just a moment ago and another whizzed by his ear as he and Scar raced down an alley.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Appendix I

Appendix II

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