Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (38 page)

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.