Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (23 page)

“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?”