Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (16 page)

“Black Hawk requires any Empire
merchant who wishes to caravan his wares to towns within Madoc
acquire a travel voucher,” offered Tinok. “Empire merchants bristle
under the requirement, but bow to the necessity if they wish to
widen their concerns.”

“Serves them right,” spat Scar. He had
never been able to be completely rid the hatred of all things
Empire after his brief stint as one of their slaves. If not for
James and Jiron buying him, Potbelly, Shorty, and others, his
present circumstances may not have been good.

“It is better to cultivate
friendships, than hatred,” James announced. “Friends are more
likely to stand by you.”

“Or turn on you when your back is
turned,” Scar countered.

“Either way, such prosperity for the
common man as we see here cannot be a bad thing.”

Scar had no argument for
that.

The keep’s gate loomed in the
distance. James took in the four guards keeping an eye on those who
passed through. “Do you recognize any of them?”

Jiron shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I,” Miko added. “Could be
new recruits.”

“Most likely. Let’s find an inn and
then we can arrange a meeting.”

“As you wish.”

Scar and Potbelly, having
been here many times to recruit fighters for the Pits, knew the
area well and suggested an inn called
The
Desert Rose
. It turned out to be a nice
enough place run by an elderly couple that was clearly of Empire
stock.
The Desert Rose
boasted two suites of rooms that would suit their purposes.
James, Jiron, Jira, Kip, Miko, and Father Keller took one room,
while Tinok, Scar, Potbelly, Shorty, and Father Vickor took the
other. Each suite had four beds divided among two sleep areas that
were attached to common rooms, which was where Kip and Jira bedded
down.

While the others took their meal in
the common area of James’ suite, the Masters of the Pits, along
with Shorty and Father Vickor, adjourned to the inn’s common room
for dinner.

Jira wanted to accompany them as the
tunings of a bard wafted up from below.

“Not this time,” her father stated.
“You can hear it well enough from here.”

“Besides,” chimed in Kip, “who am I
going to beat at Bones and Daggers.”

She hardly looked
mollified.

“In the morning, we’ll see about
contacting Illan,” James announced. “He should be able to give us
an accurate idea of what we’ll be heading into.”

“I can tell you that,” Tinok
announced. “Raids between the Warlords as each seeks to bring more
territory under their control. I’ve heard entire villages have been
massacred.”

Jiron glanced to him. “Would it have
been your friend from the caravan who told you that?”

Tinok returned a half smile. “As a
matter of fact, yes.”

“How is it that you have a friend with
the skin of one from the Empire?”

“I just do and let’s leave it at that,
shall we?”

The two friends locked gazes for a
moment. Jiron could see there was much more to the story but knew
that to press Tinok to divulge more would do little
good.

James cleared his throat and drew
Tinok’s gaze to him. “What else can you tell us about what we may
encounter?”

“Not much more than what you already
know. Bandits are rife, although most are agents for the Warlords.
They waylay travelers and raid caravans that do not bear the sign
of their Warlord. I understand most of what they take is used to
further their Warlord’s cause. Some caravans have taken to carry
signs of all Warlords, exchanging one for another depending on
where they happen to be.”

“Does that work?”

“So I understand.”

Jiron turned to James. “Perhaps we
could get hold of some?”

Tinok shook his head. “That won’t
work. First, you would need to have a caravan for them to work, and
second, the flags are only allowed for those of the Empire. Any
outsider caravan bearing a flag is fair game. Some have tried much
to their sorrow, or so I hear.”

“Do you have any idea how many bandits
usually ride together.”

“Not really. One band had
fifteen.”

Jiron nodded. “We could handle that
many.”

Frowning, James said, “I’d rather
not.”

“It would be foolish to believe we
will remain unmolested as we travel through,” Tinok
said.

James sighed. “I realize that.” He
could hope, though.

Down in the common room, the others
were having a grand time. The bard proved to be exceptionally good
and the inn’s patrons were in high spirits. Two soldiers from the
local garrison wandered in and sat at an adjacent table. Both were
of northern stock. The one with dark hair glanced toward
Scar.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

Scar gazed closely at the man.
“Possibly, though you don’t look familiar.”

“Name’s Brody.” Slapping his taller,
fair-haired companion, he said, “And this here’s Calen.”

“Nope. Don’t sound
familiar.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re that guy from up
north who comes down here and tries to get us to leave the service
and come fight for you in the Pots.”

“Right you are, though it’s
called the
Pits
,
not Pots.”

Brody waved away the correction and
laughed. “Last time you were here, we lost four good
people.”

Scar merely shrugged.

“If our captain knew you were
back…”

Scar glanced to Calen. “Well then,
let’s not tell him.”

Learning forward to join the
conversation, Potbelly said, “Black Hawk might not take kindly if
one of his men went on a personal vendetta.”

“First off, Captain Lawrence doesn’t
answer to Black Hawk,” explained Brody. “Second, he’s not even at
the keep. By the time he returned and learned of what happened, it
would no longer matter.”

“I doubt that,” Scar
replied.

Brody shrugged. “Any how, what he
doesn’t know won’t bother us.” Raising his mug, he grinned and
said, “To a night of debauchery. May both the wine and women flow
freely.”

Scar and Potbelly laughed and clanked
their mugs to his. “Here, here.”

Shorty watched as the three men drank
deep. Once Brody came up for air, he asked, “Did I hear you
correctly in that Black Hawk is not at the keep?”

Calen nodded. “That’s right.” He
glanced to Brody, “Off to Tinker, right?”

“That’s what I heard,” affirmed his
partner.

“Is that a town?”

Brody nodded. “Half a day’s ride to
the west in Briddlestone Hills.”

“Wonder what he’s doing there?” Shorty
exchanged concerned glances with Father Vickor.

“Who knows? He left late
yesterday.”

The priest set his mug on the table.
“Has there been trouble recently?”

Brody paused with mug to lips as he
contemplated the query. “Now that you mention it, I believe there
was some scuttlebutt going around the barracks about trouble to the
west.” He glanced to Calen and received an affirming nod. “Could be
he took some men to investigate.”

Trouble?
“And you have no idea what the trouble
was?”

Calen shrugged. “Most likely bandits.
They spring up from time to time. I doubt if it would be one of the
Warlords causing mischief. They have enough problems with each
other to worry about sending raiders this far north.”

Applause erupted throughout the common
room as the bard brought his song to a close. Joining in with the
others, Father Vickor’s thoughts were hardly on the bard and his
music. Once the adulation died, he stretched, faked a yawn, then
rose to his feet.

“I think I’m to bed,
gentlemen.”

“So early?” asked Scar.

He gave the Master of the Pit a grin.
“My day began early, and I think it may yet again
tomorrow.”

Tinok stood, “That sounds good, Fa…,
uh, Vick. I think I’ll join you.”

When Shorty stood and stated that he
too would call it a night, Potbelly grunted, mumbled something
incoherently. He and Scar would be staying a bit longer. “At least
until my mug runs dry.”

Shorty guffawed. “Your mug won’t ever
run dry.”

“Then I’ll never leave.

Father Vickor rolled his eyes, and
with Tinok and Shorty accompanying him, headed for the stairs. They
remained silent as they ascended to the second floor. At the
landing they turned into the hallway where Tinok brought them to a
quick halt. Farther down, a man stood with ear pressed to the door
of James’ room.

Tinok turned to Shorty.

Shorty nodded and removed one of his
throwing daggers.

“Don’t kill him,” whispered Father
Vickor. “We need to know who he is and what he may have
heard.”

Motioning for the other two to move
aside and allow him room for throwing, he drew back the knife. Just
before he threw, Father Vickor’s foot pressed upon a creaky board.
Although it could barely be heard, it drew the attention of the man
at the door. The knife flew from Shorty’s hand.

At the same instant, the man took a
step backward.

Thunk!

The knife missed the eavesdropper by a
hair’s breathed and embedded itself in the wooden jamb of the
door.

“Get him!” Tinok cried as he leapt
forward and brandished his knife.

Turning about, the man fled down the
hallway. A cry of pain tore from his throat when one of Shorty’s
knives sank into the meaty part of his left calf. Hitting the
ground, the man quickly righted himself and raced with a limping
gait toward the window at the end.

Another knife struck him in the back
as he reached the window. Knocked forward from the impact, the man
stumbled right into the window; glass shattered. Knees striking the
window pane, the man did a somersault through the window and fell
to the ground below.

“Father!” cried Tinok.

Even before the word was uttered,
Father Vickor was halfway back down the steps in an attempt to save
the life of the eavesdropper. Shooting through the common room to a
mass of surprised and slightly annoyed looks, the priest entered
the kitchen area and flew through the back door.

By the time he made it outside,
several people had gathered around the man. “Back!” Shoving people
aside, he reached the injured man’s side. But he was too late, the
man’s neck had broken upon impact.

“Murder!” came the cry. “A man has
been murdered!”

At the window overlooking the scene
below, Tinok turned back to where Jiron, James and the rest were
emerging from the room.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Shorty
asserted. “It just happened.”

“Thought you were better with your
knives than that.” Jiron’s words struck the knife-thrower to the
bone.

“He’s dead,” Tinok said.

The cry of “murder” came from
below.

Moving to the window, James saw Father
Vickor standing among an ever growing sea of onlookers.

“We better get out of here.” He
glanced to Jiron who nodded.

“
Take Jira and Kip and go,”
Miko said, then glanced to Scar and Potbelly. “You two better make
yourselves scarce as well.”

Scar looked offended. “But we didn’t
do anything.”

“Did you not?”

Tinok stepped quickly away from the
window when someone below glanced up. “It won’t be long before
they’ll be up here.” His time spent running wild in the Empire
sowing death and havoc all said this situation could degenerate
quickly.

“Illan will protect us,” Potbelly
stated, then looked to James. “He wouldn’t dare do anything to the
Hero of Madoc.”

Tinok shook his head. “Illan departed
a couple days ago. Not sure when he’ll be back. In any event, the
fact that the Dark Mage lives will soon become common knowledge if
we remain.”

From the stairwell came the sound of
many feet hurrying up the steps.

Miko pointed to the room. “Everyone
inside and away from the window, I will deal with them.” Laying his
hand on Kip’s shoulder, he said, “Go with them.”

Jiron motioned for Tinok to enter the
room, but the knifer shook his head. “I’ll stay.”

Pausing but a moment, Jiron nodded,
took Jira’s hand and rushed into the room; James followed, then
Kip. Scar and Potbelly, with Shorty in tow, passed into the room
just as the first local cleared the landing.

Miko moved to put several feet between
the room’s door and his back before coming to a stop. Father Keller
stood on his left and Tinok on his right.

“There they are!”