Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (17 page)

Father Vickor appeared on the landing
and elbowed several out of the way as he forged his way to the head
of the pack.

Miko, looking the innocent, asked,
“Good gracious, is something the matter?”

“Yes!” hollered the lead man as he
pointed toward the end of the hallway. “A man was killed and his
body tossed through yonder window.” His demeanor indicated his
belief in Miko’s culpability.

Stepping forward, Father Vickor came
to a stop before Miko and bowed deeply. In a voice loud enough to
be heard by everyone in attendance, he said, “Reverend Father, a
man has been slain, tossed from this very hallway. I was nearby and
did my best to save his life, but his spirit had already
fled.”

Miko took on a look of profound
sadness as he gazed upon his priest. In the crowd behind Father
Vickor, a few gasped and he heard the name “Morcyth” passing from
one to another. He had been recognized.

Not only were Miko’s priests active in
this area, spreading the word, but Morcyth played a prominent part
in many a tale concerning the Madoc-Empire war.

The lead man’s anger and suspicion
vanished. “Pray forgive us, Reverend Father, but did you see anyone
in the hallway when you emerged from your room?”

“There were a couple men, but they
quickly departed.” He glanced to Father Keller who
nodded.

“They didn’t go down the stair,” a
lady shouted.

“They must still be in one of the
rooms,” another hollered.

At that, the crowd dissolved as
everyone immediately began flinging open doors. If one proved to be
locked, they kicked it in. A few screams from those occupying the
rooms went unheeded as the search progressed.

When two men with drawn swords entered
the room in which James and the others had fled, Miko waited for
the cry. But they quickly emerged and moved to the next
door.

Father Vickor came to stand next to
Miko. “Shall we adjourn to our room, Reverend Father?”

Miko nodded.

Once they were within and the door
closed, the lock was thrown and he crossed to the opened window.
Tinok came to stand behind him. A man lay on the ground, looking to
have been knocked cold. “They made it.”

Tinok nodded. “So it would seem. We
should make our way from this place.”

“I agree,” said Father Vickor. “The
Dark Mage cannot afford to be found. Not yet at any
rate.”

“Yes. Go to the stable and ready the
horses.” To Father Keller he said, “Gather everything from the
rooms. We shall leave within the hour.”

Before doing as bid, Father Keller
asked, “Will they be able to find us?”

Miko grinned. “I have no doubts. We
shall head south at a leisurely pace and make camp along the road.
I expect James will be along directly.”

Out in the hallway, the sound of
running feet gradually faded once the searchers realized the
killers must have fled. They now concentrated their search to the
streets outside.

Five blocks from the scene of the
murder, in what had once been a tavern but was now a burned-out
shell of its former glory, the fugitives waited. Kip had been sent
back to the inn to discover what Miko planned to do. Until his
return, they would keep out of sight.

“Well, this is a great
start.”

Jiron turned to find James glaring at
Scar, Potbelly, and Shorty. The Masters of the Pit hardly looked
remorseful. Shorty on the other hand had eyes downcast.

“I didn’t mean for him to crash
through the window.”

“Of course not! Who would have thought
having a flight of knives hurled toward someone could possibly
result in their death?” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

Mad was a mild description of the way
James felt. They had barely left the City of Light, and a person
had already been killed. More than likely the entire city guard was
combing the streets for them.

“Won’t Uncle Black Hawk help
us?”

James gazed into the young eyes of
Jira and shook his head. “Not this time.”

“He’s not in town,” Scar explained.
“Went somewhere to the west.” When James glanced to him, he added,
“Or so one of the City Guard thought.”

“I’d still like to talk to him before
heading into the Empire.”

Crossing through charred rubble to a
window facing in the general direction of the inn, Jiron said,
“First, we need to get out of here without being seen.”

“Better wait for the commotion to die
down,” Potbelly suggested. “We’ll stand less of a chance of being
recognized.”

Scar snickered. “You always knew how
to point out the obvious.”

Shooting his partner a look that vowed
future reckoning, Potbelly kept quiet.

Jiron cast his gaze out the window and
saw Kip enter an area illuminated by a corner lamppost. He made his
way through the diminishing crowds bustling along the street. The
lad had the good sense to walk at a steady, unhurried
pace.

“Kip’s back.”

The others came to the window just as
the young novice turned the corner and passed from view.

Jira tugged at her father’s sleeve.
“Where’s he going?”

“Coming around the back if he’s
smart.” Jiron glanced to James. “The boy has a good head on his
shoulders.”

The Dark Mage nodded.

It wasn’t long before the sound of
movement in the back of the tavern heralded Kip’s return. The boy
gave them a grin as he cleared a fallen beam and joined them. He
came to stand before James.

“The Reverend Father is
leaving.”

“Leaving?” queried Jiron.

The novice nodded. “I saw Fa…uh…Vick
in the stable. They plan to head south.”

“Did he say where we should meet
them?”

He shook his head. “Just that they
were heading south and planned to make camp an hour or so down the
road.”

“How about the search for
us?”

Turning to Jiron, Kip said, “There
isn’t going to be one.”

“What?” James exclaimed in
surprise.

“A guard said the dead man was a local
they knew all too well; a thief and murderer that had caused them
no end of trouble. Once his identity became known, the search was
called off. They aren’t going to waste much time in finding his
killer.”

Jiron flashed James a grin. “That is
good news.”

Not looking convinced, James replied,
“Still, we should wait a bit before making our way from the
city.”

Scar nodded. “That would be
prudent.”

“Until then,” Jiron said as his gaze
quickly moved to encompass the others, “we stay put and keep
quiet.” Coming to rest on Scar and Potbelly, he held their eyes
until both nodded.

Being quiet was never easy, especially
for a lad embarking upon what he perceived to be a grand adventure.
Kip was filled with barely contained excitement. Unable to sit
still as they waited for the sun to go down, he would fidget until
subdued by another’s reprimand, usually Jiron.

Jira had an equally difficult time.
Their Bones and Daggers game had been left behind in their abrupt
departure from the inn. They tried creating one from the rubble,
but the noise produced by Kip’s attempt at forming appropriate
sized pieces from the debris scattered across the floor brought
Jiron’s wrath upon him and he quickly gave up.

Jiron manned the window. His ire
spiked with every noise the others made. After his third
chastisement of Kip, he threatened to bind and gag the lad if he
wouldn’t be quiet. When he had been Kip’s age, he could have
remained motionless and silent for hours on end should the
situation warrant.

Outside grew quieter by the minute.
Most respectable people had already returned home from their
evening entertainments. A few couples walked the streets
interspersed with the odd carriage or lone watchman making his
rounds.

“I think it’s safe now.”

James joined him at the window and
looked out on the quiet street. Glancing to his friend, he nodded.
“Let’s go.”

Two groups emerged onto the darkened
street. Two men, a girl and a lad nearing manhood comprised the
first group. The second followed a few minutes later.

They kept calm and proceeded at a pace
just north of leisurely. As always in situations such as this,
Jiron took charge and maneuvered them through the back alleys of
Al-Ziron. Guards wearing the uniform of the City Watch appeared
periodically; Jiron altered direction as needed.

Minutes passed as they drew ever
nearer to the outlying buildings. Pausing momentarily in the lee of
a building that exuded the unpleasant stench commonly associated
with a knacker, they waited for two guards to pass

James’ stomach grew sour from the
malodorous aroma that permeated the area. He cast the building a
look of pure disgust. Once informed about what transpired within
walls such as these, he made a vow to never again eat sausage
except what they made themselves. Many a dead or dying horse had
been dragged within only to later find themselves served as sausage
at less-than-fine eateries. It wasn’t so much the horse meat, but
the “other” items commonly added that turned his stomach. Jiron’s
claim that they threw rats, alive and kicking into the grinder was
what had done it for him.

Speaking in low tones the two guards
passed, oblivious to those that hid in the darkness nearby. Once
they moved farther down the street, Jiron signaled for the others
to follow. He took a step and was about to cross the mouth of an
alley when from several blocks behind them, a shout broke the
night.

“Guards! Guards, to me!”

Jiron came to a halt and glanced
toward the cry. “Damn!”

“Scar and the others do you think?”
James asked.

“Has to be.”

One of the Town Watch dashed around
the corner nearby and raced with all speed back into
town.

A small hand gripped Jiron’s arm. “We
have to do something, Father.”

Jiron glanced down to his daughter,
then cast a questioning glance to James.

Meeting his friend’s gaze for a moment
only, James turned to Kip. “Find out what’s going on. Meet us half
a mile down the road.”

The young novice nodded. After a quick
look to ensure no one would witness his emergence onto the street,
he left the shadows.

“Come on,” Jiron urged. “It won’t do
to get caught up in this.”

James barely heard as he stared back
into the city. Shouts for guards and cries for someone to stop
continued unabated. Then, the night grew quiet. “They got
them.”

After several seconds of quiet, Jiron
nodded. “So it would seem.”

James pulled his gaze from the city
and turned one filled with worry upon Jiron. “I hope Scar and the
others had the good sense not to kill anyone.”

A fountain sat at an intersection of
two main thoroughfares. Water poured from the mouth of a rearing
horse to crash into the pool below as its rider held aloft a mighty
spear. Everything from the horse’s fore-shoulders down was obscured
from Kip’s view by the press of people filling the intersection.
Whatever was happening, transpired at the fountain’s
base.

The novice tried elbowing his way to
the fore, but his efforts proved fruitless and he was forced to
remain at the rear.

“We haven’t done anything!” Scar’s
shout penetrated the murmur of the crowd.

Whatever reply may have been given, it
failed to reach Kip’s ears. The novice feared for their friends. He
tried a second time to forge his way through the crowd. Able to get
a third of the way in, his forward progress was abruptly curtailed
when those in front began moving backward.

“Back I say!” cried an
authority-filled voice.

The crowd parted along the street
heading back into town. Guards, over a score strong, escorted four
men at sword point. Scar, Potbelly, Tinok, and Shorty had been
divested of their weapons. With gentle, and at times not so gentle
prodding, the guards ushered their prisoners along. Tinok’s anger
looked barely kept in check.

Unable to push forward through the
crowd from where he stood deep within the pack, Kip immediately
turned about and made his way through the less packed throng at the
rear. Once out, he quickly skirted the crowd, raced down an alley
running parallel to the street upon which the guards marched, and
hurried to get ahead of the procession.

It took him two blocks before he
managed to get in front of the guards. Standing before a candle
maker’s shop, he dithered about what to do.

Scar glanced his way, met his gaze,
and nodded his head once in acknowledgement. When Kip made to
speak, Scar shook his head then turned to the guard leading the
procession.

“Where are you sons of dogs taking
us?”

The lead guard glanced back over his
shoulder. “Shut up back there!”

“Are you taking us to stand before
Black Hawk?”