Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (14 page)

“And no word of who was behind
it?”

“None.”

Miko glanced to Fathers Tullin, Keller
and Vickor. “Then this may be a private vendetta and have nothing
to do with our guests.”

“So I believe,” affirmed Brother
Horka.

To Father Tullin, Miko asked, “Did you
get word to Tinok?”

“Yes.”

“Does he plan to come?”

Father Tullin shrugged. “He didn’t
say. But I think it likely.”

Miko sat back and grew thoughtful. “I
do not like the death of these priests, something nags at the back
of my mind when I mull about it. While we are gone, see if you can
discover any other losses T’Lea may have suffered. If it warrants
my attention, you know how to reach me.” After a moment, he added,
“Check with the other temples. This may not be confined to just the
Dark One’s minions.”

Father Tullin nodded.

Across the table, Miko saw Father
Keller frown. “What is it, my friend?”

“I don’t know if it is such a good
idea for us to leave the temple right now. Our Brothers and Novices
can barely defend themselves. If something should arise in our
absence…”

Miko gave him a reassuring smile.
“They will be fine. Morcyth will watch over them. Besides, Father
Tullin will remain here, and many of the Brothers are not without
skill.”

“You got that right,” affirmed Brother
Horka. “We are not a temple of weak-willed priests without a
stomach for violence. Why, all but three of our Novices were raised
on the streets; Brothers too. Have you forgotten last
month?”

That brought grins to all. None knew
how it started, but the refectory had been transformed into one
massive free-for-all. Two-thirds of the Novices and half of the
Brothers were involved. By the time Miko arrived with Fathers
Keller and Vickor, their “priests” were bloody from head to toe,
bones broken, eyes blackened, it was a mess. The scene was more
appropriate to a battlefield than the refectory of a temple to a
god that professed peace.

Miko chuckled. “Even still, call in
our recruiters from the neighboring cities until our
return.”

Father Tullin nodded. “Will
do.”

“There is one more thing.”

“What?”

“While I am gone, I am leaving the
care and welfare of our people to you.”

A look of surprise and a touch of fear
came over him. “Me? But…Father Berron has been with you
longer.”

“I need someone who will do something
instead of dither should an emergency arise. I know you, you are a
man that gets things done. You will take care of our people until I
return.”

“As you wish.”

“It is not merely
myself
who wishes
this.”

Father Tullin’s fear gave way to pride
for there could only be one other that Miko meant.

“That will mean no more trips to the
Pits.”

Glancing to Father Vickor, Father
Tullin sighed. “I understand.”

In a place far removed from the City
of Light, a woman lay upon a table. Her body broken and twisted,
maimed beyond repair, she lay as she had for many days; strapped to
a table and in the most excruciating pain.

Standing over her, a man laughed.
Caressing her face, he smoothed a wayward strand of hair back into
place. “Are you ready for more?” He reached a hand toward her.
Before his fingertips could touch her skin, she screamed. “Yes, I
think you are.”

Taking a thin, finger-length rod
bearing a jagged, hooked end from off the table beside him, he
brought it to the woman. “Do not fear, our fun will last for quite
some time. Yes, I think before it is over, you will come to love
what we do here.” Again he laughed as he showed her the instrument
of torture and pain.

Her screams only made what he did all
the more joyful. His master would be pleased.

Wham!

The door to the room slammed opened
and the man turned to find three figures entering this most holy of
places. Blackness surrounded him as he called upon the power of his
god. A wave of pain and agony flowed toward the intruders. Before
its power could strike, the spell met a force of greater strength.
The wave of pain dissolved into nothingness.

Two were armored and bore twin
longswords, the third wore plain leathers and was obviously the
trio’s leader. It was he that had countered the spell. The man in
leathers stepped forward. Casting a glanced at the girl upon the
table, sadness came over him. Sadness quickly turned to anger as he
fastened his eyes upon the woman’s captor. “Your time has
come.”

The man laughed. “You have no power
here.” Raising his hands, he called forth magic of the fellest
kind. The darkness intensified and quickly transformed into six
diminutive creatures; misshapen and twisted, each exuded pure
malevolence and hate. “Take them, my pets.”

Brilliant light flared to life, its
center being that of the man in leathers. Four swords left their
sheathes as the two armored men moved to interpose themselves
before the third. The six creatures sprang forward, but in the face
of the light, their attack faltered. Withering, they fell to the
blades of the armored men.

The light winked out as quickly as it
had come. “You and your kind will no longer visit horror and pain
upon the innocent. A time of change is on the rise.”

“Bah! Our god is supreme. Now, feel
the full brunt of His wrath!”

Darkness oozed from the walls, floor
and ceiling. The man in leathers held his hands before him and
light shot forth as the power of one god fought with that of
another. For a moment, the light was entirely cocooned by the dark.
But cracks began forming in the encompassing miasma. A single shout
from the man in leathers produced an explosion that rocked the
room. Walls cracked, fissures broke apart the ceiling causing
debris to fall, but when the haze cleared, the darkness was
gone.

The woman’s captor stared with
disbelief as the light reigned supreme.

“As I said, a time of change is on the
rise. One in which those like you will have no place.”

Turning to flee, the man was caught by
the two armored men and held at bay. Attempts to call upon the
power of his god were met with failure. A nimbus of light
surrounded him and he could no longer feel his god’s
presence.

“For untold deeds too dark to utter,
you deserve to die.”

The armored men set him against the
wall and the man in leathers magically held him in
place.

“Do it.”

They came to stand before the woman’s
captor, each holding but a single blade. Without further direction,
they plunged them into the man’s chest. The blows were precise,
delivered to either side of the heart.

“We will meet again,” vowed the
man.

Leathers shook his head. “No, we
won’t.”

Light flared a third time. From him,
powerful magic flowed into the armored men, coursed through their
swords and entered the woman’s captor.

A scream tore from the man’s throat as
the light ripped through his dark soul. Unable to leave as long as
life remained, it withered beneath the onslaught. When at last the
man’s heart beat no more, the soul sought to depart. The light
would not allow it to go.

Holding it, wrapping it, destroying
it, the light obliterated a soul completely devoid of any trace of
goodness. When the last portion of the dark one’s soul had been
eradicated, the light vanished.

Magic released the woman’s captor and
he slumped to the floor. Never again would he bother another, not
even in the afterlife.

Leathers went to the woman’s side and
gave her a smile filled with as much love and assurance as any on
this world had ever known. But her mind was gone. The time spent
under her captor’s ministrations had destroyed it.

“It’s okay,” he said to her as he
brought his hand toward her forehead. When it touched, pain
vanished and wounds healed.

“Take her with us.”

“We should put her out of her misery,”
one of the armored men said.

Leathers shook his head. “No. We will
take her with us. Though her mind is gone, her spirit
resides.”

“As you wish.”

Lifting her from the table, the
armored man walked with the other as they followed Leathers from
the room.

Looking out the window, James kept
watch on the bridge. Mid-morning had come and gone without any sign
of Miko. He was anxious to get going and was impatient with any
delay. Far to the south, his wife and son waited. The sooner he
could reunite with them and end their grief at his “passing,” the
happier he would be.

Using magic to seek Miko was not an
option. He no longer had the security of the temple to shield his
efforts. Any attempt now would alert nearby mages. Many times back
on the island he had worked on performing magic without creating
the telltale tingle; but since there had been no other mage on whom
he could practice, his efforts never went beyond the theoretical
stage.

Jira and Kip played Bones and Daggers.
Jira still had yet to win against him. Jiron watched as they
played, his advice against whomping his daughter seemed to have
gone unheeded. Kip had six Long Daggers of varying strengths, two
Daggers, and four of his Bones. Jira retained but a single Long
Dagger with two stones beneath and three of her Bones. The outcome
was a foregone conclusion and Jiron was not happy. Jira on the
other hand, did not seem to care. She moved one of her Bones out of
harm’s way and waited eagerly for Kip’s move.

“Where could they be?”

Jiron looked up from the game and
turned toward his friend. “They will arrive when they do. It takes
time to get here and Miko planned not to appear rushed in his
departure.”

Sighing, James glanced over his
shoulder. “I know.”

Outside was a beautiful autumn day.
The trees were alive with vibrant colors, the sky a deep blue with
but a wisp of cloud, and the morning sun was doing its best to
counter the chill in the air.

Turning back to the window, James
looked out once again to the bridge and the road connecting Inna’s
Bend with the main north-south trade route. A gust of wind broke a
cluster of leaves free. He watched as they floated and danced in
their ever-downward spiral.

Kenny loved the leaves. Last year,
James had compiled a six-foot heap into which he would toss his
son. Kenny giggled and laughed as the pile exploded upon impact.
True, he had to reform the pile after every hurl, but the joy of
watching his son cavort was worth the effort.

The noon meal came and went, Bones
were taken by Daggers, and still Miko failed to appear.

“Something had to have
happened.”

Jiron walked over and looked out the
window. “I wouldn’t worry. What could possibly have happened? If
anybody can handle themselves, it’s Miko.”

“True enough.”

Miko wasn’t what one would call a
run-of-the-mill High Priest. Raised on the streets of Bearn, he had
a life-view few of his peers could match. Not only backed by the
power of Morcyth, but he had been aged prematurely by the god
Dmon-Li’s “Fire.”

Years gone, but his youth had been
exchanged for an unmatched martial prowess with the sword. With the
power of the Fire, none had been able to stand against him. Now
that it was hidden away, he was merely very deadly. Between sword
and spell, there were few against whom he would have trouble.
Coupling his own prowess with that of those with whom he traveled,
it would be an unlucky brigand indeed who tried to waylay them for
their coins.

Picturing the drubbing he and his
priests would give a highwayman caused a grin to break out. Fathers
Keller and Vickor were skilled in the faith, and according to
Jiron, would hold their own very well should blows be exchanged.
No, he needn’t fear for Miko and his priests.

It wasn’t until the shadows had begun
to grow long that a lone rider appeared at the bridge. Expecting
three with several packhorses in tow, he gave the rider scant
attention. But when the rider turned toward town, he could tell
despite the plain travel clothes, that it was Father
Vickor.

James turned from the window. “Vickor
just crossed the bridge.”

Looking up from the game of Bones and
Daggers he played with Kip, Jiron asked, “Alone?”

“Yes.”

Grabbing his pack, James headed for
the door.

Jiron got to his feet and gestured to
the board. “Put this away and gather our things.”

“Yes, sir,” Kip replied.

He was more than happy to bring the
game to a close. After his repeated drubbings of Jira, Jiron had
taken him on. Five straight losses followed, the one stopped
mid-game would have been his sixth. Already, Jiron had snatched
three of his Bones and decimated his Daggers.