Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (32 page)

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.”