Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (58 page)

“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.