The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven (30 page)

“Should we stop there for the night?” asks
Reilin.

Jiron gazes at the position of the sun and
shakes his head. “There are still a couple hours of daylight left,”
he says.

Pushing on, they reach the walls of Jihara
and work their way through its streets. Once on the south side,
they resume their quick pace and leave it behind. Jiron keeps the
pace quick until well after the sun has set and the stars have come
out. When the horses begin to droop from the steady pace he’s kept,
he leads them off the road and they make camp. In the morning, they
are again on the road before the sun even rises.

During the hour after they leave camp, James
has Reilin ask a fellow traveler on the road how much further they
have until they reach Morac. The traveler tells them they should
reach it before late afternoon which greatly boosts Jiron’s moral.
The sooner he gets to the bottom of what happened to Tinok, the
quicker he’ll be able to track him down.

Anticipating that they will reach Morac
before the end of the day, Jiron keeps them at their speedy pace.
Hour after hour the miles fly by until two hours after noon when a
city appears out of the horizon ahead of them. “That has to be it,”
asserts Jiron.

As they draw closer to the walls, James all
of a sudden starts chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” asks Miko.

James glances at him and then over to Jiron.
He can see Jiron’s ears burning slightly with the memory of their
last visit to Morac. “Should I tell him or do you want to?” he
asks.

“You can,” he replies. “This is the one
story you love to tell.”

“I do don’t I,” he states with a grin. “On
our way to rescue you from the mines, we passed through here. This
was just after Cassie died and Jiron’s friend Tinok left. Yes,” he
says, “the same one we’re searching for. Anyway, Scar, Potbelly and
several others took Jiron into town to get the recent events off
his mind. To make a long story short, Roland and I had to go and
find them when they didn’t return. Seems they ran afoul of a woman
and her old mother who somehow managed to get them into the
basement of their house and tied them up.”

He pauses a moment and then looks to Jiron.
“You never actually told me how you got down there,” he says.

“Frankly James,” he says, “I don’t
remember.” The blush that comes to his cheeks tells him that he
probably does.

“Right,” replies James with a little
sarcastic tone to his voice.

Miko grins and Reilin actually breaks out
into laughter at Jiron’s and the other’s expense. Jiron casts him a
dirty look and he brings his amusement under control.

By this time they’ve come close to the gates
of the city. The traffic moving in and out is quite heavy for this
time of the day. They make their way closer to the gate and take
their place in line. Somewhere behind the walls is a man named Azku
and Jiron intends to find this man before the sun rises the
following morning.

The line entering the city continues to move
forward until they are but a few people away from the gate. When
it’s their turn to pass through, a squad of guards exits from
within the city. All of a sudden they are surrounded by guards and
James is about ready to panic. Then Jiron shakes his head telling
him not to worry. The guards are merely there to relieve the ones
who were on duty. Paying those in line little attention, the new
arrivals take position while the ones being relieved form up to
march back inside. James and the others pass through the gate
quickly and into the city before the changing of the guard can be
completed.

“Better find an inn first so the rest of us
can be out of sight while you go in search of this Azku,” suggests
James.

“Very well,” he says and starts scanning the
streets for any sign of an inn. When he comes across a three story
building bearing a sign depicting a winged bird in flight, he comes
to a stop out front. He and the others wait while Reilin enters to
see about getting the rooms.

They don’t have long to wait before Reilin
makes his appearance back out the front door. He holds up the keys
showing them he got the rooms. Then they take the horses around
back to the stables and are soon up in their rooms.

Dinner is still a couple hours away so Jiron
suggests that he take Reilin and see about locating The Cracked
Ladle. James tells him to take Stig along just in case and the
three of them leave on their hunt.

Jiron hits the stairs down to the common
room almost at a run in his impatience. “Hey,” Stig cautions, “not
so fast. We don’t want to draw any attention.”

Jiron holds back several choice words about
unwanted attention, but heeds Stig’s warning and slows down. Once
in the common room they make their way through the tables toward
the door. Several of the tables have men and women taking their
ease during the heat of early evening. One of the ladies gives
Jiron a slight grin and a wink. If he wasn’t so intent on finding
out what this man knows about Tinok, he might have paused. But then
thoughts of Aleya come to mind and any errant thought he has about
the woman in the common room vanishes like a breeze.

They exit through the door and come to a
stop in the street. Unsure where the Cracked Ladle lies, Jiron has
Reilin ask one of the passersby. Luck is with them and the man is
able to give them directions. He points down the street they are
currently on and tells them to continue for six blocks, then to
take a right. And that’s where his memory gets a little hazy. “It
borders on a plaza that has a three tiered fountain,” he says. “You
can’t miss it, it’s the only public fountain here in Morac. Also,
atop the uppermost tier of the fountain lies a statue of
Aziki.”

“Aziki?” asks Reilin. The man looks at him
odd that he wouldn’t know who Aziki is. “Oh yeah, right,” he says
to the man then thanks him for his help. He indicates to Jiron and
Stig that he’s got the directions and leaves the man standing there
as he rejoins the others. Glancing back, he sees the man still
standing there looking at him oddly.
Wonder who this Aziki
is?

Leading the others, he takes them down six
blocks and then turns right down a cross street. “Somewhere in this
area is a fountain with a statue of someone on top of it,” he tells
them. “The Cracked Ladle borders the plaza.”

“Excellent,” says Jiron. They continue down
a few more blocks and at each intersection of streets they come to
they scan down the cross streets for the fountain. The first two
intersections yield nothing, but at the third when they look down
to the left, they see over the heads of the crowds on the streets,
a statue of a warrior.

“That must be it,” Reilin observes.

“Let’s hope so,” Stig says.

Moving down the street to their left, they
work their way through the crowds until the street opens onto the
plaza the man had described. The splash of water can be heard as it
cascades over the tiers of the fountain. It’s actually quite large
and children, some of them naked, are playing in the water.

The buildings bordering the plaza all look
fairly identical. Most appear to be open markets where many people
are currently looking over goods or sitting at tables having a
drink or a meal.

“Which one is it?” Stig asks.

“The name indicates an eatery,” Jiron
replies. “Let’s make our way around the plaza and see if there’s a
sign hanging out front of one of them that may tell us.”

Moving through the crowds, they work their
way from one shop to the next. By the time they have made a
complete circle and come back to where they started, no sign
indicating a Cracked Ladle could be seen.

“Go ask someone,” Jiron finally tells
Reilin.

Nodding, Reilin goes to one of the men
passing by and asks, “Excuse me sir, could you tell me which one of
these establishments is the Cracked Ladle?”

The man stops and peers at him through
squinted eyes as if he’s unable to see well. “The Cracked Ladle you
say?” he asks. Casting his eyes around the plaza, they finally stop
at one with a red tapestry bearing the design of a sword hanging
next to the door. “I believe that is the one there.”

“Thank you good sir,” Reilin says before the
man walks away. Returning to the others, he indicates the door with
the red banner and says, “It’s that one.”

“Doesn’t look like an eatery,” Stig
says.

“No, it doesn’t,” agrees Jiron. Turning to
Reilin he asks, “Are you sure that’s the one the man told you?”

Nodding, Reilin replies, “Absolutely.”

“Very well then,” Jiron says. Moving out, he
crosses the plaza toward the door next to the red banner. Coming up
to it, he takes hold of the handle and pushes it open.

On the other side they find a wide hallway
extending further back. Lining the hallway are six suits of armor
three to a side, each one from a different nation or era. “I don’t
think this place is an eatery,” whispers Reilin when he sees the
armor.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Jiron says as he
passes through the doorway. His feet echo off the hardwood floor.
Gazing down at it, he suddenly realizes whatever this place is, it
has money. A floor like this, especially in this part of the world,
had to have cost a fortune.

Just after the six suits of armor, the
hallway ends at an open archway. On the other side is a large room,
richly furnished. Couches, chairs and tables are spaced in such a
way as to afford at least a small amount of privacy to those using
them. Rugs line the floor and tapestries hang along the walls. Not
cheap ones, these look to be made of fine cloth by master artisans.
A few statues sprinkled here and there give the room an even added
touch of elegance.

The room is empty but for a lone gentleman
sitting at one of the tables reading a book. As they enter the room
the man looks up from his reading, his expression is one of
irritation. His eyes never leave them as Jiron comes to a stop just
within the room.

He looks at the man then glances around the
room in the hopes of someone else making an appearance that they
could deal with. When after a minute of fruitless waiting, he sighs
and begins walking over to the man.

Reilin walks at his side and notices the
man’s mood turns darker when he realizes they mean to approach him.
“Good day,” Reilin greets the man as they reach the table. Coming
to a stop, they give the man a slight, respectful bow in the hopes
of mellowing out his mood.

Unresponsive, the man continues to glare at
them.

“We were hoping you could tell us if this is
in fact the Cracked Ladle?” Reilin asks.

The man’s eyes flick from one to the other.
He closes his book and sets it on the table before him. “It is,” he
replies.

Reilin turns to the others and translates,
“He said it is.”

“Good,” says Jiron.

Jiron was just about to tell Reilin to ask
about Azku when the man says in perfect northern, “I can understand
you.”

“Thank goodness,” he says turning to the
man. “This doesn’t look like an eatery.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” the man explains.
Remaining ramrod straight in his chair, the man’s expression hasn’t
softened in the least.

“Oh?” asks Stig. “What kind of place is
this?”

“One where those who are not invited are not
welcome,” he states. “You are intruding where you don’t belong.
Please leave.”

“But we have come a very long way,” objects
Jiron. “We very much need to find a man by the name of Azku. We’ve
been told he comes here.”

The man’s eyes react slightly when Jiron
said the name ‘Azku’, then returns to the same perturbed expression
once more. “Please leave,” the man says again. “I don’t wish to
tell you a third time.”

Jiron locks gazes with the man and begins
contemplating the ramifications if he were to force the man to talk
to them.

“Oh, hello,” a voice says from behind them,
also in northern.

They turn to see another man, this one
wearing a more jovial expression. “I see you’ve met Kozal,” the
jovial man says with a smile. Then he glances to the man in the
chair and says, “Being your usual unpleasant self?”

“They’ve got no right to be in here,” Kozal
says.

“I suppose in the strictest sense that is
true,” the jovial man states. “But you can be my guests and that
will settle that.”

The man in the chair picks up the book and
grumbles something as he returns his eyes back to its pages.

“Don’t let Kozal’s unpleasantness give you
the wrong impression of us here at the Order of the Scarlet Sword,”
the jovial man says. He glances again at the man at the table and
whispers to them, “We better find another place where we can talk
so we won’t bother him any longer.”

“How about outside in the street,” mumbles
Kozal.

Shaking his head at Kozal’s rudeness, the
jovial man indicates for them to follow him. “We don’t get many
visitors here,” he explains.

“I never heard of the Order of the Scarlet
Sword,” Jiron says.

“Not too surprising,” the man replies. “Even
here in the Empire it’s not too well known. Being from the north, I
would have been surprised if you had heard of it.”

“What is it?” Stig asks.

“It’s kind of like a guild,” he replies.
“Those of us who belong to the Order of the Scarlet Sword are
mainly comprised of soldiers, fighters, weapon smiths and a few
others whose profession has to do with such things. I believe we
even have a couple Empire Commanders and Commanders of Ten counted
as members.” As he talks he takes them through the room and opens a
door on the far side.

The hallway they find themselves in has a
very fine carpet lining the floor. The walls are adorned with many
fine works of art. “There’s a room down here where we can have some
peace and quiet while we talk.”

“Are you a swordsman then?” asks Jiron. From
the man’s manner and build, he would hardly consider him a
formidable opponent if he were.