Dark Shores of Salvation, page 20
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
“It would be amusing to see them try.” Jiron added.
“That it would,” James agreed.
“But still…,” Father Keller began, but quickly realized they were correct. He glanced to his fellow priest and saw that he also knew Miko was in no real danger.
Father Vickor’s hand came off the head of his mace.
“You know,” Jiron began. “With Azhan supposedly neutralized, won’t the priest try to track you down? From what you said, he got a very good look at you.”
James nodded. “I got a real good look at him, too.”
Returning his attention to the Viewing Table, he concentrated on the priest.
The priest came into view. He walked alone down one of the main streets.
“Expand the image,” Jiron said.
When he did, Jiron pointed to a tavern half a block ahead of the priest. “That’s The Silver Knife, a place where those with coin go to drink. It isn’t cheap.”
“How far?”
“Not too far,” he replied. “Ten minutes or so.”
The priest altered course as the tavern drew nigh then entered.
He passed through the common room then down a hallway at the back. At the third left door, he paused, glanced up and down the hallway, then entered. Waiting within was the well-dressed man Jiron had followed.
“Lord Kinezki I presume?”
Jiron nodded to his friend. “That’s him.”
Lord Kinezki sat in a large, cushioned chair before a fireplace. The chair was situated in such a way that he had full view of the door. When the priest entered, he motioned him to sit in a smaller chair next to him.
“That’s it,” James said then a sigh escaped him. There would now be no time to rest.
He canceled the spell and the Viewing Table reverted to normal.
“Both of them together,” Jiron said. “We might never get a better chance to nullify the enemy’s presence in Abu Dar.”
“You’re right,” James agreed. “Grab Tinok and Shorty. We are going to pay a visit to The Silver Knife.”
“I’m coming too.”
James turned to Father Vickor and saw the priest’s determination then nodded.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
The house wherein Little Ben was being kept a slave was dark save for a lone window on the second floor wherein a candle flickered.
“Isn’t it too early for everyone to be in bed?” Potbelly asked.
“Depends why they are in bed, doesn’t it?”
Potbelly chuckled. “I suppose so.”
“Let’s check around back.”
Scar avoided the double door at the front and worked his way down a narrow alley on the right to where a six-foot high stone wall began. It continued back for twenty feet then turned eastward to enclose the townhouse’s back yard. The wall was thick and formidable except where a wooden gate strengthened with iron bands loomed near the middle.
The wall, though strong and formidable, had clearly not been designed to keep people out. It was more for privacy than security.
Taking hold of the top, Scar pulled himself up and looked over.
Shadows and silhouettes revealed several trees, a flower garden and a gazebo for two with a small bench.
“It’s clear,” he said then pulled himself the rest of the way up and over.
Potbelly followed.
In the dim light emitted by buildings around them, they made their way along a cobblestone path through the garden and to the back door. Finding it locked, Scar spent a moment with knife tip inserted and soon had it open.
They entered the kitchen; Potbelly snagged a roll from a pile on the table. Next to it was an opened jar which he picked up and sniffed. Detecting the aroma of berry, he dipped his roll in it and took a bite as they made their way deeper into the townhouse.
It was quiet though they could hear noises coming from upstairs; footsteps and muffled speech.
Down a short hallway they found the foot of the stairwell. Dim light illuminated the top. Pausing a moment, they listened and when certain no one was at the top, made their way up.
With each step the boards creaked and in the dark quiet, they were certain someone would have noticed. But they made the top without giving away their presence.
The stairwell emerged on a hallway that traveled the length of the second floor. The light was coming from a room down to the left. So, too, was the laughter of women. Then they heard a man cry out and it wasn’t a cry of pain.
Scar turned to Potbelly. “Little Ben.”
His fellow Pit Master grinned and nodded. “I can see why he doesn’t want to leave.”
“Yeah, but what is he going to do when they tire of him as they are certain to do?”
“Exactly.”
The two ladies spoke more in the Empire’s tongue while Scar and Potbelly debated about whether to go in there, kill them all, or to wait and see if Little Ben would emerge without the fuss. Before they could finalize their plan, the light from the room brightened and in a few moments, Little Ben emerged with a stub of a candle in hand. He turned down the hallway and headed for where they laid in wait. He was dressed in nothing but what he’d been born with.
“Love it when the gods favor us.”
Potbelly turned to Scar, “I doubt they have anything to do with this. Gods tend to fill our lives with problems, not offer solutions.”
Scar chuckled, nodded, and quietly said, “True enough.”
They quieted and waited until Little Ben reached the stairwell before stepping forward.
Startled by their appearance, Little Ben darted backward, cursed and dropped the candle. It went out and plunged the hallway into semi-darkness. The only light now came from the room Little Ben had just departed.
“Hi again,” Scar said as he darted forward.
Taking hold of an arm, he pulled the one-time pit fighter into the stairwell.
Potbelly was there to take hold of his other arm.
“Scar, Potbelly,” he stammered. “You can’t be here!” he exclaimed quietly.
“Relax,” Scar said. “We just need some information and then we will trouble you no more.”
Eyes flitting from one to the other, Little Ben relaxed. “What do you want to know?”
Scar let go his arm.
“We are interested in slaves, that do not look or act like slaves. We know there are at least eight in the city, and hoped you could steer us in their direction.”
“Slaves?” he asked.
“Yes. We believe they are agents of the enemy,” Scar explained.
“And with you being a slave,” Potbelly added, “we figured you might know who we were talking about.”
“Slaves, that aren’t slaves?” he asked.
“That’s right. Now, where can we find them?”
“I’m not sure…”
“They don’t have the mannerisms of slaves,” Potbelly explained. “They stand tall and look you in the eye.”
When Little Ben failed to reply, Scar stepped into the hallway and said rather loudly, “Maybe the ladies in that room would know?”
Little Ben panicked and dragged Scar back into the stairwell. “Shhh! By the gods be quiet!”
Scar eyed him. “Well?”
“Okay, okay. Just be quiet, will you please?”
Potbelly looked on him in disgust. “Why you want to be a slave is beyond me.”
“I have my reasons. Now, about these slaves who aren’t slaves.”
“Yes?” Scar asked.
He licked his lips.
“I do not know who they are or where you can find them,” he explained. “They don’t let me out much.”
Scar’s face wrinkled in displeasure and he took a step toward the room with the ladies.
“But,” Little Ben said as he grabbed Scar and pulled him back, “there is someone that would know.”
“Who?”
“He’s called Father.”
“Father?” Scar asked. “What, is he some kind of priest?”
“Hardly,” Little Ben replied. “He’s the oldest slave in Abu Dar and has no master.” He eyed the two men before continuing. “He’s the leader of Abu Dar’s slaves.”
“Slaves have a leader?” Potbelly asked. “Thought they just had masters.”
“He enjoys great respect among the slaves. They would do anything for him.”
“Why?”
Little Ben shrugged. “He’s Father.”
“And you think he would know?” Scar asked.
“And help us?” Potbelly added.
“If anyone would know, he would. Whether he would be willing to help you, that is another matter.”
“Where do we find him?”
Little Ben hesitated. “Well, that’s the problem. I don’t know.”
“Then what good are you?” Scar said derisively.
“I, uh, once heard that those looking for him are often directed to a shuttered building in the dock area.”
“Which one?” Scar asked.
“There could be dozens of those by now considering the number of people having left the city,” Potbelly asserted.
“I’m sorry, but that is all I know.” He looked at Scar pleading to be believed.
Scar glanced to Potbelly who said, “I think he’s telling the truth.”
“If you aren’t,” Scar warned, “we’ll be back.”
As the two made to leave, Little Ben laid a hand on Scar’s arm. “Please, don’t tell anyone I sent you there.”
Scar shrugged off his arm, mumbled something that could have been a yea or nay before he and Potbelly hurried down the steps and back the way they had come.
Once they had left the townhouse and scaled the back wall, Potbelly whispered, “Why can’t someone just say “Go to this spot” and there is what you are looking for?”
“That would make life all too easy,” Scar replied. “Let’s get to the docks and see if we can’t find this Father.”
James, Jiron, Tinok, Shorty and Father Vickor kept to the shadows as they wended through the streets of Abu Dar. They had a date with a certain priest and trading house lord and did not wish to be late. After traversing half the city, they arrived at The Silver Knife.
“Tinok, Jiron you two come with me. Shorty you watch the front and Father Vickor, take the back.”
Father Vickor disappeared around the side. Shorty took position across the street at the mouth of an alley. Leaning against a front post to a tailor shop, he waited.
James pulled out his mirror and made sure that the pair was still within the room. When he found them lounging before the fire, he put his mirror away and made for the door.
The Silver Knife was busy even at this time of night. It had a bar along one wall as most taverns do, but it also had an extensive common room sectioned into two separate areas. One was adjacent to the bar and those at the tables were what one would expect to frequent such a place. The other had white linen tablecloths and a bard strumming a lute. The clientele was much more affluent. Where the other part of the common room was raucous, this one was serene.
A man who obviously worked there spied them upon entering. He made to intercept, but James glanced his way, shook his head, and headed for the door beyond which laid their prey. The man stopped, eyed them quizzically then was hailed by a nearby patron and dismissed them as he went about his work.
The door was unlocked and they passed through to the hallway on the other side. Two men stood before the third door on the left. They turned as James and the rest entered.
Both men dressed in dark leather armor, one was rather burly, the other somewhat slighter. Burly Man eyed them up and down before saying in heavily accented northern speech, “This is private area. You must leave.”
James didn’t even stop. Maybe it was due to his lack of sleep or the fact that he desperately wanted to be with his family, but he didn’t feel like complying. Instantly, the two men were surrounded by a single, opaque shield through which they could not see. With a thought, he sent the pair speeding down the hallway to clear the space before the doorway. Had the situation been otherwise, he may have taken some amusement at the thought of the two men falling over each other as they were whisked away.
No sooner had the sphere formed and begun to move than Burly Man exclaimed loudly in his native tongue. Three doors slammed open, a moment later, opaque shields formed in the openings. Men cursed and pounded futilely upon them in their attempt to get through. James took in the hallway and added shields before the rest of the doorways including the one through which they had just passed.
“So much for avoiding attention.”
James turned to Jiron. “They already know about me.” Then with a thought, the door leading to the room containing the priest and Lord Kinezki blasted open.
Jiron and Tinok rushed through first. They had taken charge of Lord Kinezki by the time James entered. The priest was nowhere in sight.
The only other egress was a window which stood closed. The curtains on either side remained still and undisturbed. He was certain the priest had not gone out that way. He scanned the room.
With Tinok’s knife threatening his throat, Lord Kinezki remained tall and proud. He glared at James. “I demand to know what this is all about,” he exclaimed in accented northern tongue.
James ignored him, his focus was on the priest. The man was in here before they entered the hallway, so here he must still be. But where?
“Treason for one,” Jiron replied as he came to stand before the Lord. He drew the lord’s sword from its scabbard and threw it across the room. The lord’s belt knife soon followed.
“My guards will have your heads for this.”
Jiron chuckled. “I don’t think so.” Losing his amiable demeanor, his face turned dark and assumed an ominous look that had sent dread stabbing into the heart of all but the most remorseless of pit fighters. “Now, where’s the priest?”
“Priest?” Lord Kinezki asked. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“You were in here with someone,” Tinok said. He pressed the knife firmly against the lord. “Where is he?”
Crash!
The window shattered. A crowd of men stood behind it, one held a crossbow. A shield formed to block the entry even as the crossbow fired. The shield severed the bolt in half, the front half having lost much momentum and its back half spun out of control to land on the floor some distance away.
James backed against the wall and motioned for the others to join him.
The Lord proved stubborn but with a knee to the backside and shove to the shoulder, the lord stumbled forward. His foot struck a stool and he tumbled to the floor most ignobly.
“Get up, your lordship,” Tinok sneered.
Grabbing him by the hair, Tinok pulled him to his feet and shoved him forward again. This time he managed to remain upright though he did hit the wall with more force that he would have liked.
“Keep him there,” James said. When he received Jiron’s nod, he turned his attention back to the deceptively empty room.
“Show yourself.”
“I demand…,” Lord Kinezki began before Tinok quieted him by applying additional pressure with his knife against the lord’s larynx.
“Quiet or I will make sure you never talk again.”
The lord grew silent and turned his attention to James.
“Show yourself, Priest of Gyomias,” James demanded. The room remained empty. “As you wish.”
A dark cloudy mass six feet high and three wide appeared before James.
“What is that,” the lord breathed.
The dark mass moved forward toward the chairs upon which the priest and Lord Kinezki had so recently sat. It enveloped the one the priest had occupied. When it continued on and the chair emerged, naught remained but a pile of small slivers. The destruction had been silent and fast. The destructive mass did the same to the second chair.
“I will find you,” James said as the mass picked up speed and began moving throughout the room.
The table went next, then a couch. When it passed too close to the fireplace, the front façade was stripped away leaving nothing but broken shards upon the floor. Then it headed to the far corner.
A sudden blast of magic shattered the destructive mass. When the explosion subsided, the priest stood before them radiating the full might of Gyomias.
“Surrender,” James said.
“I will never surrender to one such as you!”
A second blast of magic, filled with heat and power lanced forth.
Having fought this priest once before, he had his number. A flat shield appeared between them. It slanted to the right and when the priest’s magic struck, it was deflected to the side and exploded upon impact with the wall.
James responded with a blow of force that hit the priest in the chest. It lifted him up and slammed him against the wall.
Shield sprang up around the priest. It glowed yellow.
A moment later, a second shield, this one lacking color encased the first.
“Collapse your shield.”
The priest just glared at James. His eyes flicked from James, to Lord Kinezki and it was clear that his mind worked furiously to find a solution to this situation.
James caused the shield he made to lift the priest off the ground and brought him halfway across the room. He then slammed it into the ceiling and back to the floor. The priest within was thrown against its sides and when the sphere within a sphere came to a stop, the priest regained his feet but his left arm hung at an awkward angle.
“Now, collapse your shield,” James said once more. “I won’t ask again.”
He felt a sudden magical build-up.
“Gyomias!” the priest shouted.
Magic blasted outward from the priest and sundered James’ shield. Now freed, the priest launched another of his heated blasts at James.
