Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (22 page)

The Watch Commander refused to move at
first, but when Shorty’s blade pressed painfully into his side, he
acceded to the command and entered the cell.

Tinok remained quiet and off to the
side; the broken staff-end still in his hand. His eyes stared
toward nothing in particular. It wasn’t until the Commander had
been locked within one of his own cells and Shorty tapped him on
the shoulder that he returned to the here and now.

“Give us a hand with the
others?”

Glancing to the knifer, Tinok nodded
and proceeded to aid Potbelly and Shorty in transferring the rest
of the guards to cells. He was neither gentle nor rough, merely
methodical.

“How did you know we were
here?”

Ceadric glanced first to Scar, then
over to where the Watch Commander stewed in his own cell. “I got
word from someone who saw you being taken. For all that you’ve done
for Madoc, I couldn’t leave you to the Commander’s tender mercies.”
Returning his attention to Scar, he gave the barest of grins as he
said, “But it would seem my intervention was not
needed.”

Chuckling, Scar nodded. “We waded
through them like they were babes in the woods. None would last a
moment in the Pits.” Raising his voice so the Watch Commander would
hear, he added, “Don’t worry about us ever returning to recruit
your men. They’re worthless.”

The Watch Commander merely glowered at
him, his expression one of promised retribution.

“Are you going to get into trouble
over this?”

Ceadric shrugged. “Only if they are
willing to stand up to Black Hawk.”

Scar laughed. “Then…I doubt
it.”

With the clanging of a cell door’s
closure, Potbelly, Tinok and Shorty joined them. Three cells were
now full of guards, both conscious and otherwise.

Their swords, knives, and other
equipment lay in a heap where it had been knocked to the floor
during the fight. Once they reclaimed their items, they passed
through to the back of the Jail to the stable holding their
mounts.

Keeping his voice low, Ceadric asked
Scar, “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”

Scar shook his head. “Not a clue. He
wouldn’t tell us anything. I do know, though, that we’re headed for
the Empire.”

That caused the Raider Captain’s
eyebrows to arch. “The Empire?”

“So it seems.”

“Why?”

Scar shrugged then set the saddle in
place and cinched the straps. “We’ll find out soon
enough.”

Tinok was first to mount and waited
near the doorway leading to the small courtyard. He gazed silently
into the darkness beyond.

Ceadric nodded in the pit fighter’s
direction. “Is he okay?”

Scar took a moment to answer. “No,
though I don’t know what’s wrong. He rarely speaks anymore; lets
his knives do the talking for him you might say. To be honest, I’m
surprised there weren’t any corpses tonight.

“He was the one that started it. When
the guard raised a staff the length of my arm with the width of an
owl’s egg, and made ready to strike Potbelly, Tinok was there
before the first blow landed. How he slipped out of his bonds, I
don’t know but before anyone could react, he had possession of the
staff, broke it in half, and then used the two ends like
clubs.

“A guard fell near me and I got his
knife and cut my bonds, then freed Shorty and Potbelly. The rest
you know.”

Ceadric gazed upon Tinok with wonder.
“Two halves of a broken staff and he takes out half a
score?”

“Well, me, Potbelly, and Shorty helped
too. But yeah; he had half of them out cold before we could join
the fray.”

Potbelly had mounted and rode over to
them. “What Scar said earlier was spot on. They weren’t that good.
In fact, most were fumble-headed idiots.”

“True enough,” added Shorty. Mounted
and ready to depart, he rode past and went to wait with Tinok. They
spoke quietly together.

After a quick glance to
ensure they were the only ones in the stable, Ceadric moved close
to Scar and whispered, “You’ll find them at
The Rusty Cauldron
.”

There was no need to elaborate further
on who Ceadric meant. Without replying, Scar swung up onto his
horse.

“My thanks, Captain.”

Ceadric cracked a grin. “Any excuse to
rattle the Watch Commander.”

Scar laughed as did
Potbelly.

At
The Rusty Cauldron
, Kip and Father
Vickor waited outside.
At sight of their comrade’s approach, Kip returned within the inn
while Father Vickor remained to greet the new arrivals, explaining
that the others would be down shortly.

“We’re getting out of here, right?”
Potbelly asked.

The priest nodded. “The horses are
saddled and our equipment secured. As soon as the others join us,
we head west.”

Scar grew puzzled. “West? I thought
our road led to the south.”

“Lord Black Hawk is to the
west, and
he
still
desires to speak with him before turning south.”

A hooded James and Jiron emerged
through the door with a diminutive cloaked form between them. Miko
and Father Keller followed. Jira peered out from beneath her hood
and flashed her Uncle Scar and Uncle Potbelly a grin.

Scar replied with a grin of his
own.

Potbelly gave her a wave.

In silence, the group went around back
to the stables and soon left the town of Al-Ziron
behind.

It took half an hour of southward
travel before reaching the road cutting east-west across the
northern no-man’s land between The Empire and Madoc. Taking it
westward, they crossed the Ti-Migala River.

A thin copse of trees several miles
from the river proved a somewhat suitable place to make camp. Jiron
set the order of watch. Everyone, including Kip, took a turn. Of
course, Kip’s scheduled time overlapped both Fathers Keller and
Vickor. Even though they were not within the Temple back in the
City of Light, instructions in the faith continued; much to the
lad’s chagrin.

Father Keller stood before a kneeling
Kip.

“Try again.”

Kip closed his eyes and strove to find
what Father Keller had called “the connection.”

“Typically, young Kip, you would not
have reached this point so early in your studies. Recent events,
however, have made it essential that you be able to call upon the
power of Morcyth.

“Clear your mind of everything save
your devotion. Think upon your desire to serve and follow the
tenets set down by the Reverend Father, and the connection will
come.”

An hour now had been spent in
fruitless searching for the elusive connection. Kip hadn’t a clue
what to search for and the ever repeated “It will come” held little
instruction how to find it.

Okay, Morcyth. Here I am,
ready to serve.

Errant thoughts intruded upon the
serenity he strove to create in his mind. He would banish one to
the nether recesses of his consciousness only to have an equally
disruptive one replace it.

White light enveloped Father Keller.
“Can you feel it, young Kip? For those who open themselves to it,
the power of Morcyth will come.”

Easy for you to say, and
do, for that matter. How am I ever to find what can’t be found?
What if the reason I can’t make the connection is that Morcyth has
deemed me unworthy?
Feelings of nervousness
and embarrassment kept his mind from forming the peace Father
Keller insisted was necessary to link with their god.

Minutes passed and he was no closer to
his goal.

“It can be hard, especially the first
time.”

Kip opened his eyes and raised his
head to glance at the brawler-turned-priest before him. His worry
and doubt must have been clearly written across his face for Father
Keller favored him with a kindly smile.

“Fear not, you will find it when the
time is right. And only our Lord Morcyth knows when that will
be.”

From nearby, Kip heard a chuckle. It
was Father Vickor watching them from his bedroll.

“Tell him when it came to
you.”

Father Keller’s face reddened and gave
his fellow priest a disapproving look. “It’s another hour until
your turn. Go back to sleep.”

Sighing, Father Vickor sat up.
Brushing an errant strand of dark hair back into place, he said,
“Doubt if I could sleep now anyway.”

Kip glanced from one to the other.
Father Vickor appeared unusually amused while Father Keller’s
expression hadn’t softened in the slightest.

“Are you going to tell
him?”

Looking indignant, Father Keller
replied, “I don’t see how it is any of his business.”

“Then I shall.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Putting finger to lips, Father Vickor
nodded to those sleeping nearby. “Shhh! You’ll wake them.” Turning
to Kip, he said, “It was during our second year at the Temple. I
had already mastered summoning the power of Morcyth a year earlier,
as had the seven others who had been novices with us. Keller, me
and those who joined with us were among the very first to be
inducted into the priesthood.”

“Is this really necessary?”

He gave Father Keller a grin and shook
his head. “No, not really.” Then he returned his attention to Kip.
“Now, as I was saying, he and I were at this tavern having a few
ales during the first break we had been allowed after a long
fortnight of studies. As you know, our order has no rule about
chastity like some of the others do.

“Well, there were these two girls; and
they were very friendly toward us let me tell you.” He nodded
toward Father Keller. “He disappears with one to a room upstairs.
They weren’t gone two minutes before that poor girl gave out with a
shriek that nearly stripped the wood from the walls.

“Down the stairs she flew as if the
Death Specter was hot on her heels. A moment later, here comes poor
Father Keller.”

Kip couldn’t help but give out with a
chuckle at the image.

“’
What’s wrong?’
he shouted, not knowing that he was aglow with the
power of Morcyth.”

“Screaming the whole way, the...
the…,” reining in his laughter, he glanced to the others to see if
he had disturbed them; he hadn’t. “The girl ran from the tavern!”
Laughter finally got the better of him and ended any further
attempt to continue the story.

His attempt to keep a solemn
expression failed and Father Keller added his baritone cackle to
that of his fellow priest and novice.

“Okay, I think he gets the
picture.”

It took a bit before their laughter
ran its course and conversation was once again possible.

“So you see, Kip, it’ll come when it
does and not always when you hope.”

Still bearing a grin, their young
novice nodded at Father Vickor’s sage words.

“But,” the priest continued, his face
losing much of the merriment it had held but a moment before, “that
still does not reprieve you from attempting to seek it on your own.
Now, begin again.”

Sighing, Kip returned to his kneeling
position as Father Vickor assumed the role of instructor, and
Father Keller, turn at watch over, went to his bedroll.

Early the next morning they
encountered a small village of little more than half a dozen
ramshackle huts thrown haphazardly together along either side of
the road. There they inquired about the whereabouts of Black
Hawk.

An old man, blind in one eye, said
that Black Hawk had taken the road leading to Tinker, a small
mining town nestled deep in the Briddlestone Hills to the
north.

“There have been some strange
goings-on around here of late.”

Acting the leader, Scar did the
talking for their group. “Like what?”

“Little Holly disappeared not two
nights ago. About that time, strange noises could be heard, but
only at night.”

“I’m sure the night is full of all
kinds of noises.”

The old man shook his head. “Not like
this. Growls there were, but also…”

Scar leaned forward.
“What?”

“Well, I didn’t hear it, but Gwellyn
claimed that three nights before Black Hawk rode through, there
came the most unnatural growling from just outside his window
ledge. And there weren’t just growling. Gwellyn said that
intermixed among the growls and grunts was speech, speech just as
you and I are talking now.”

Scar chuckled. “A beast that
talks?”

Jiron glanced to James, but his
friend’s face was unreadable.

“Yes, sir. If not for Adge saying he
heard it the night before as well, we would hardly have thought
anything about it. Gwellyn has been known to take a few too many
sips from the cask if you take my meaning.”