Dark Shores of Salvation, page 22
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
Potbelly tossed him the coin. “Where can we find him?”
Catching the coin, Boy caused it to quickly vanish. “Not around here,” he said with laugh. “Who sent you this way?”
Scar scowled and silently vowed retribution upon the head of Little Ben.
“Where can we find him?”
To Potbelly, Boy replied, “Not far.” Turning about, he took two steps then paused to glance over his shoulder. “Coming?”
Scar shot a look to Potbelly who shrugged.
“May as well.”
Scar frowned. “You play us false and we’ll gut you.”
Boy grinned and hurried toward the nearest street leading from the docks.
“What have we got to lose?”
“My patience for one,” Scar replied. He grudgingly moved to follow the boy.
Potbelly chuckled, shook his head and accompanied his friend.
Boy led them down the street then paused at an alley. When he was sure they followed, he ducked within.
The Pit Masters reached the alley’s mouth in time to see Boy turn into a narrower cross-alley. Moving forward quickly, they peered within the dark crevasse.
“I don’t like this,” Scar grumbled.
Potbelly pulled his knife and stepped forward. “Neither do I.”
“It isn’t far,” Boy’s voice said from the darkness.
They entered the cross-alley and had to sidestep so narrow was it. It didn’t last long before opening onto a smaller, ill-lit open space wedged between three buildings. Boy stood there and pointed to a rather large and sturdy-looking door looming in the shadows.
“We need to get this open,” he whispered.
“Is he in there?” Scar asked.
“If you want to see him, we have to get that door open.” When neither man moved to do as requested, Boy said, “It’s the only way.”
Scar glanced to Potbelly and nodded to the door.
Potbelly stepped to it and tried the handle; found it locked. Inserting the knife’s tip into the keyhole he worked it around, feeling for the tumblers. After a few moments, he heard a soft click and pushed open the door a crack.
The aroma of baked bread wafted forth and a soft light spilled through.
“Good,” Boy said. He moved forward, slightly nudged Potbelly aside and further pushed open the door. Entering, he made his way down the hallway.
“He better be in here,” Scar mumbled as he followed Boy past Potbelly.
Potbelly brought up the rear and closed the door.
They found themselves in the back of a bakery, the baked-goods aroma made their mouths water.
“So where is he?”
“Shhh!” Boy whispered to Scar. He motioned for them to follow. “This way.”
The hallway led past several doors and the stairs leading to the upper floor. He passed them all until he came to the door at the end of the hallway. Boy turned the handle, opened it a crack then peered through to the other side. After a moment, he opened it further and entered behind the counter of the bakery’s customer area.
Though it was in shadows, another door farther down stood open admitting light. The sounds of someone puttering in there could clearly be heard.
Boy put a finger to his mouth then motioned for them to wait. He scurried toward the partially opened door but stopped just short. He gazed in then glanced back at the pair and grinned. Small hands moved quickly to transfer baked goods from a cooling shelf to his pouch. He tossed the pair a loaf of bread then headed for the door leading to the street where he slid open the bolt and departed.
Scar’s scowl deepened as he laid his hand on his sword hilt and followed him out. Taking the boy by the shoulder, he spun him about.
“What game you playing?”
“No game,” he said. “Was just hungry. Master Ahlim is the best baker in town. Now we can go see Father.”
Feeling a nudge on his shoulder, Scar spun to find Potbelly offering him half the loaf. He knocked it away and turned back to accost the boy some more but found him already moving down the street.
“I may have to kill that boy.”
“He was right, though,” Potbelly said.
“What?”
With a mouthful, he replied, “Master Ahlim makes good bread.”
Scar scowled, then took the bread again offered by Potbelly. He angrily tore a piece off with his teeth as they set off to follow the boy.
The next ten minutes consisted of dodging down one street after another as well as two alleys until they finally ducked into an abandoned business to avoid a patrol. The odors within were terrible.
“Gah!” Potbelly exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Scar said, his own expression one of revulsion. “Used to be a tannery.”
“How do you know?”
Scar just glared at him.
“Oh, right,” then he grinned. “Doesn’t it make you…?”
“No!” Scar exclaimed. “It does not.”
Grabbing Boy by the shoulder Scar pulled him close. “How much farther?”
“Not far.”
“This is taking too long.”
“Don’t worry,” Boy replied, “I’ll get you there.”
Letting him go, he said, “You better.”
Boy scurried to the doorway, looked out for the patrol then waved them to follow. Before Scar and Potbelly could join him, he was off.
Two more streets, a quick dash through a tavern and an inn’s stable later, they emerged from between two warehouses.
Scar’s anger spiked as he saw a galleon trader moored to the dock not twenty feet away. They were on the other side of the boarded up warehouse where they had originally encountered the slave named Boy.
Boy stood framed in the moonlight next to a door standing ajar. “In here,” he said, indicating the opened door.
Scar grew angrier by the second. He pulled his sword and stepped forward to teach this slave who played them for fools a lesson when Potbelly grabbed his arm and brought him to a halt.
“Bad idea,” he whispered.
He shrugged off Potbelly’s hand with a jerk and turned to give his friend a piece of his mind when he spied the numerous slaves emerging from the shadows.
Mostly men with a few women scattered among their ranks, they swelled to over thirty and each held some sort of weapon; from kitchen knives, to swords, to a trio of women with slave whips.
Scar gauged them quickly and knew they were no real threat to them. Even with their numbers, he and Potbelly could wade through them with ease.
“You coming?”
He turned back to Boy who fully opened the door and gestured for them to follow.
“Father awaits.”
“We need his help,” Potbelly advised, “not his ire.”
Slamming home his sword, Scar cursed. He shot a quick glance about the docks and saw the guards were no longer in sight. He cursed again and silently heaped threats of mayhem then moved to follow Boy with Potbelly at his side. The armed slaves came up behind.
Another score of slaves waited within the warehouse. They stood so as to form a narrow walkway from where they entered to another door in the back.
Scar paused in the doorway.
“Come on,” Boy said then scampered ahead.
Potbelly gently gave him an encouraging shove forward and got Scar moving.
The slaves glared at them as they passed through their ranks. These were harder looking slaves than the ones encountered outside. Their bodies scarred, they looked far tougher and skilled. Their weapons were a cut above those outside with a combination of staves, swords and cudgels, swords being the most favored.
Scar felt they could overcome these odds should the situation deteriorate, but he was less inclined to test it. His hand never left his sword hilt.
Boy led them to a door in the back of the warehouse guarded by two slaves. He opened the door and passed through to a dimly lit room and the two guards moved to bar Scar and Potbelly’s way.
About to force his way through, Scar stopped when Boy’s face appeared between the two guards.
“It’s okay,” he said to them. “Father is expecting them.”
They didn’t move and their gaze never left those of the Pit Masters.
Sighing, Boy glanced to Scar and said, “Give me a moment.” He nodded to the two guards, rolled his eyes, then vanished into the room behind them.
Potbelly grew aware that the ranks of slaves they had just passed through when following Boy had gathered behind them. The warehouse was unnaturally quiet despite the presence of so many people.
Then a commotion sounded from behind the guards. Something big was moving at speed toward them.
“My friends!” a cavernous voice bellowed.
A giant of a man, easily seven feet tall and massive enough for two men crashed through the two guards sending them flying to land in an ignominious pile upon the floor. His childlike grin and rumpled hair framed a pair of eyes that fairly danced with excitement.
Potbelly barely got out a surprised “Mog?” before the giant of a man grabbed them in a bear hug.
Lifting them from their feet, which in itself was no mean accomplishment, Mog exclaimed, “It is good to see you again!” His arms wrapped them tightly, his embrace uncomfortable to the point of inducing pain.
“Let us down,” Scar croaked.
Mog complied and let go.
They landed on their feet. Potbelly slapped him on the shoulder and said with a grin, “Good to see you too, Mog. How have you been?”
“Good. Mog has been good.” He turned toward the doorway. “Come meet Father.”
“Lead on.”
Grin widening, Mog lurched through to the other room.
“I thought he was dead,” Scar whispered.
“As did I,” Potbelly replied.
The last time they had seen the giant was the day Empire forces breached the City’s defenses. Wielding his massive club, Mog had smashed scores of men before going down under a flood of enemy fighters.
He now wore but a breechclout and the scars on his back were most apparent. Not only cuts from blades, but jagged ones from a lash. He had made his name in the Pits before Scar and Potbelly had even arrived. Mog had been fearsome with his maul.
Leading them through a room lit with one lonely candle, Mog met up with Boy at the top of a stairwell leading down.
“These are my friends,” he said to Boy.
“I know, Mog. Father has business with them.”
Excited, he turned to the two Pit Masters. “You’ll like Father.”
Scar kept to himself his reservations about such an outcome.
“I’m sure we will, Mog,” Potbelly replied.
Nodding with a wide grin, he stepped up his pace and nearly knocked Boy down on his way to the stairwell.
“He hasn’t changed.”
Scar glanced to his friend and rolled his eyes. “No, he hasn’t.”
“It’s best not to keep Father waiting,” Boy said before he scampered after the big man.
Following them down the steps they emerged in a fair-sized room that looked to once have been used for storage. Now it had but a simple desk, one chair behind it and two before. Six men besides Mog and Boy stood guard about the room. Armed and armored they eyed the two newcomers
Seated in the chair behind the desk sat a man whose brown hair had all but given way to gray; shoulder length, it was pulled back into a ponytail. The gaze coming from beneath bushy eyebrows took in everything and Potbelly was sure would be fooled by very little.
Mog hurried around to stand on Father’s right. He assumed a guard position and had he not at the same time been grinning ear to ear with most of his remaining teeth showing, would have struck an imposing stance.
Boy came up to the desk and plopped himself down on one of the two chairs.
“Mind your manners,” Father’s deep voice told the lad, “we have guests.”
“Oh!”
Eyes widening, he hopped off the chair and took a seat on the corner of the desk opposite Mog.
Father grimaced at the boy and then rolled his eyes before returning his attention to Scar and Potbelly.
“Please, gentlemen,” Father said, “be seated.”
Scar hesitated a moment, then sat. Potbelly followed suit.
Boy swiveled on the desk and said to Father, “They want to see you.”
“Yes” Father said, “so I understand.” Then to Scar, “What do you want?”
“My name’s…” Potbelly began before the elder slave waved him to silence.
“I know who you are. I know where you come from.” Then his eyes narrowed, “And I know who you are with.”
Scar leapt to his feet. “It’s a trap!” He had his sword halfway out of its scabbard before Potbelly’s hand restrained him from completing the motion.
Father’s guards drew their swords and rushed forward.
“Belay that!”
Though barely raising his voice, Father brought his guards to a halt.
“Friends!” Mog exclaimed. “We are friends here.”
Scar looked to Father. “Are we?”
“Sit down, Pit Master.” When Scar failed to so much as release the hilt of his blade, Father added, “Had this been a trap and had I wanted you dead, dead you would already be.” When Scar still did nothing, he shrugged, “Or leave.”
“We need his help,” Potbelly whispered to his friend.
Slamming the sword into its scabbard, Scar glared at the elder slave and sat.
Father’s guards remained at the ready.
“How is it you know so much about us?”
The old man eyed him, but kept silent.
“What is it you want?”
Potbelly glanced to Mog.
“You can trust Father,” the giant of a man urged.
“Sure you can,” Boy said with a grin. “Until he kills you that is.”
He chuckled then glanced back to Father. The steely gaze that met him reduced his grin to a thin line and his face paled ever so slightly.
“Sorry,” Boy whispered.
Returning his attention back to Scar and Potbelly, he waited.
“Fine,” Scar said. “We were told you could help with information.”
Father’s gaze never wavered.
“The enemy that has wrought so much devastation upon the Empire has spies here in Abu Dar,” Scar said.
Potbelly nodded. “They are disguised as slaves.”
They paused a moment to gauge Father’s response but the stony visage gave away nothing
“There are eight that we know of,” Scar continued. “We were hoping you would know where to find them.”
“Slaves,” Potbelly said. “Slaves that do not appear nor act like they have spent any time at all as one.”
The elder slave kept silent a moment before saying, “You seek powerful enemies.”
“I seek to kill some spies that would lay waste to this city,” Scar said.
“Why?” At Scar’s confused look, Father added, “Why do you care what happens to a city of a people that laid waste to yours?”
“I’ve asked myself that question many times the last few days,” Scar admitted. “Yet here we are.”
“Can you help us?” Potbelly quickly added.
Father paused a moment as his steely gaze went from Scar, to Potbelly, then back to Scar. “I know of whom you seek.”
Potbelly relaxed; Scar only marginally so. He did not trust this Father.
“Where can we find them?” Potbelly asked.
“For that information, I would require your word that in the not too distant future I will ask a favor of you and you will see it done.”
Scar’s eyes narrowed. “What favor?”
“Nothing that would violate any oath you currently have, nor go against what you hold to be true and right. But, once it has been made known the task must be done with much diligence.”
“What do we have to do?”
“I shall tell you at the appointed time. Do we have a deal?”
Scar glanced to Potbelly.
“You can trust Father,” Boy said. “He’s a good man.”
Scar tried not to laugh. Anyone who could wield his gaze like the man before him had some darkness to his soul. And a “good man” could not command the loyalty that those around him seem to give him. He glanced to Mog.
“Don’t look at me,” the big man said. “Father tells me little.”
“Should I trust him?”
Boy gasped as did more than one other in the room.
Mog’s expression turned inward as the wheels of thought churned in that big head. When the gears and wheels at last trundled to a stop, he nodded. “Yes.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Potbelly came to his feet and held out his hand.
Father did the same.
The pair waited but a moment longer before Scar joined them. He grudgingly held out his hand. “We have a deal.
“Good.”
Father shook their hands in a grip that was far from the vice-like grip Scar anticipated. It was a simple, genial handshake.
“You can find them holed up beneath Master Tuttle’s.” He nodded to Boy. “He can take you there.”
“I sure can!”
Hopping off the desk, Boy asked, “Now?” He looked first to Father, then to Scar and Potbelly.
Scar eyed Father, wondering what his story was and how he came to be so respected by the slaves of Abu Dar. Deciding such information could wait, he nodded. “Yes. Now would be good.”
With the enemy arriving sometime tomorrow, it would be best to get these spies out of the way before dawn.
Boy bobbed his head, gave Father a fare-the-well, then headed for the stairs.
“Goodbye, my friends.”
Potbelly flashed the giant a grin and said, “Be safe, Mog.”
“Smash a couple heads for us,” Scar added.
Mog laughed.
“Are you coming?” Boy asked from where he stood on the bottommost step.
