Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (47 page)

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?”