Dark Shores of Salvation, page 43
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
“Wasn’t the way of it,” Scar said then nodded to Father Vickor. “We were sitting, having an ale, when this guy bumps him from behind. Caused him to spill his drink down the front of his shirt.
“Father Vickor there shot out of his chair and before anyone could react, knocked the man to the ground.”
Miko gave his priest a fierce glare, who had the good sense to hang his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said sorrowfully.
“Are my priests going stir crazy?” Miko demanded. “Have they lost their minds? Maybe a good lashing would see them behave like they should!”
James was in shock. He’d never heard such a thing from his friend. “Mightn’t that be a bit extreme?” he asked. When Miko turned toward him he added, “We all have been under a great deal of pressure.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “Though if there is any more of this foolishness, it will be dealt with most harshly.” He turned an expression of anger upon his priest. “Do we understand?”
Father Vickor nodded. “Yes, Reverend Father. I understand.”
“Good. Now what have you discovered?”
“For one thing,” Scar began then glanced to James, “that head priest you are interested in.”
“Yes?”
“He’s the High Lord Cleric or some such of Gyomias, second only to that of their High Priest,” Scar explained. “They call him ‘The Light of Gyomias’ because his mandate is to seek out and destroy the agents of the Unclean One.”
James nodded. “Then he would know the ultimate goal for this invasion.”
“That he would,” Scar agreed.
“But he’s rarely alone,” Potbelly replied. “Always has several priests in attendance.”
“And with soldiers everywhere,” Scar added, “it would be very difficult to capture him without bringing all their forces down on our heads.”
“Difficult,” James mused, “but not impossible. We have some time. I don’t think he will leave anytime soon. But then, who knows?”
“Anything on that guy who’s been so cozy with this High Lord Cleric?”
“Not so much,” Scar replied. “Heard him referred to as ‘The Slayer’ by one and ‘The Avatar of Judgment’ by a couple of soldiers we spoke with.”
“The slayer of what?” James asked
Scar shrugged.
“We didn’t get that far before…” he began then nodded toward Father Vickor.
“Right. Okay. That’s something to go on,” James said.
“Go out again tonight,” Miko told his priest. “This time without drawing attention to yourself.”
Father Vickor nodded. “Will do what I can.”
“See that you do.”
The meeting broke up and as everyone was leaving, James pulled Miko aside.
“Kind of hard on him weren’t you?”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I do not see that this is any concern of yours.”
“You are my friend,” James said then waited for the last of the others to file out. Then he closed the door leaving them alone within the Viewing Room.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I am,” Miko said, then sighed. All the anger that had built up within him simply faded away. “Things have been tough lately.”
“Sleeping well?”
He shook his head. “No. I am plagued nightly with restless dreams.”
“I’ve had several too,” James admitted. He thought back to the dream where Igor said he was running out of time. He’d spoken to Miko about it but they could not decipher whatever message Igor had tried to impart.
In the dream Igor had said, “You are where you need to be. Learn, understand, act!” The ‘where’ had to be Abu Dar. But what was he supposed to learn, to understand and then what was he supposed to do? Trying to figure it all out kept him awake at night
And “That which must be done, you would never do.” What must be done and why would he never do it? It was enough to drive him crazy.
“I am still no closer to figuring it out,” James admitted.
“There is something we are overlooking,” Miko said. “Some piece of the puzzle that eludes us.”
“What worries me is, what if we don’t learn what needs learning in time? What if by the time we do, it’s too late?”
Miko laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It will not be.”
James didn’t feel so optimistic. Even if they figure out what must be done, apparently Igor thinks he won’t do it. Why wouldn’t he do it? What could it be? Why can’t Igor just be clear and precise? Go here, learn this specific bit of info, then travel over there and do what needs doing.
Sometimes, he gets real irritated with that little creature.
“We know more than we did.” Miko said after watching the wheels turn in James’ brain for a bit.
“True.” James agreed. “If we can just capture either the Lord High Cleric or this Slayer, then we would learn all we need.”
“Think we can?”
James shrugged. “Let’s hope so. If anyone can figure out a way, it’ll be Jiron or Scar.”
Miko agreed.
Turning back to the viewing table, he brought the temple grounds into focus, then had the image scroll until the Lord High Cleric came into view.
He was talking with the Slayer, or was he called the Avatar of Judgment? Or both? Considering how much death has been dealt with the invasion, James figured to just call the man in leathers the Slayer.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A night out was always fun. Better than being stuck in the temple grounds with either drudgery or boring hours of learning the finer points of being a priest. Kip was happy.
Bards of any quality were extremely rare these days in Abu Dar. Most had fled before the siege and the few who remained were in the employ of the wealthy. There at The Fat Merchant Inn, all they had was a lone piper that hit every sixth note off-key. The worst day in a tavern beats the best day at studies. Kip forgot who told him that, probably Scar, but that sure was right.
Father Vickor sat beside him. The Reverend Father told Kip before they left to make sure that under no circumstances was Father Vickor to get into a fight.
He thought about arguing the point, for why would a Father listen to a no-nothing Novice anyway. Saying he’d do his best, he skipped out and joined the crowd heading out for a night of it.
Jiron was with them, as was his friend Tinok. Scar and Potbelly were there, as was the knife thrower Shorty. Of those, Kip preferred being with Shorty. He got along well with the knifer; the others made him uncomfortable.
Upon entering The Fat Merchant Inn, Father Vickor was greeted with a hoorah from several men who they quickly learned had once been soldiers of Abu Dar. Having given their pardon, and their word that they would keep the peace, they had been released.
On the surface, such an act of releasing your enemy while the war still waged seemed fraught with potential hazards, it seemed to be working for Abu Dar’s new masters. Trouble had been nearly non-existent following their occupation.
The soldiers had had an injured buddy in with Father Vickor when the storehouse collapsed. They bought him several rounds, sang a song or two with him, then departed with their thanks for saving their comrade.
“Everyone likes you,” Kip said after the two men left.
“Always be friendly and helpful, young Kip,” the priest replied sagely. “Never know what benefits such will garner.”
Kip nodded wisely as he thought about that.
Father Vickor was not the only priest taking an ale in the common room of The Fat Merchant Inn. So too was a young priest of Vyll, god of luck, gamblers and thieves. Vyll never had a great following of priests, though they were often seen on the seedier side of life. When someone wins greatly at games of chance, they would often say a prayer of thanks to Vyll.
The priest didn’t look like he could have reached his twentieth year. Though the man tried for a beard to cover his youthful face, it hadn’t come in completely and just looked bad in every way. He watched a game of knucklebones and would at times say a blessing upon the one casting the ‘bones. His blessings didn’t always work out well for the caster from what Kip could see. Vyll was a capricious god whose favor could not always be counted upon.
Scar leaned close to Kip and nudged his arm. “I think that girl over there likes you.”
“What?” Kip asked, glancing to where Scar pointed.
A lovely, dark haired girl of Empire lineage still in her teens cast a glance his way. Upon seeing him looking, flashed a smile.
Face reddening, Kip averted his eyes.
“She’s been eyeing you for some time,” Scar said. “Go over there.”
Kip shook his head and stammered, “I…I don’t think she’s interested in me.”
Casting another look her way, Kip saw her again looking at him.
“No doubt about it,” Scar said with a chuckle. “She’s got a bad case of Kipness.”
Father Vickor scowled at Scar. “Would you leave my novice alone?”
“What’s the harm?” Scar asked. “He’s getting to be a young man. Can’t keep him from the girls for long.”
“If you would leave that to me,” Father Vickor replied, “I would be most appreciative.”
Scar shrugged. “As you wish.” Then to a quiet aside to Kip he said, “Go for it.”
As luck would have it, the man the girl was with, considering that she and him shared the same general appearance had to be her father, caught his daughter looking at Kip. Eyes narrowing, he got to his feet.
“Uh-oh,” Scar said. “You might be in trouble.”
“What?” Kip asked in a panic. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”
The man gestured for his daughter to get up and they left The Fat Merchant Inn.
Scar slapped Kip on the back. “That was close.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Kip insisted.
“A father doesn’t care what you do or do not do if he thinks you’re a threat to his daughter’s virtue.”
“You got that right,” Potbelly agreed. “Remember that time in Fort Chambers and that little slip of a girl who had eyes for you?”
Scar laughed. “She was too young and I was not interested. But her father tried to filet my gizzard with a butcher knife.”
“What happened?” Kip asked, thankful for the focus of the conversation to be off of himself.
“Well, it all started when me and Potbelly took a holiday to the coast…”
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, Scar regaled all with exploits that walked the knife’s edge of believability. When he got to the part where he and Potbelly engaged a dozen cutthroats in the back of a sleazy dive, a woman’s scream pierced the general murmur of the common room.
Two men with knives were going at each other.
Patrons scattered and tables were overturned as everyone moved back. Those engaged in knucklebones kept their place and ignored the fight though they were only two tables over.
Vyll’s priest stood and walked to the two combatants.
“Don’t do it,” Potbelly mumbled as the priest drew near.
“Do what?” Kip asked.
“Get between them. They got blood in their eyes and I don’t think…”
Knives flashed and Vyll’s priest staggered back with a slice down his arm.
“That was stupid,” Potbelly continued. “Never get between men in a knife fight.”
The two men grappled one another, each man’s free hand having hold of the other’s knife hand. They fought for dominance and it looked like the bigger of the two was going to overcome the other.
But then half a dozen Gyomian soldiers entered and pulled the men apart stopping the fight. One soldier took their knives and his men bound the fighter’s hands.
“No public fighting,” the soldier announced.
About to leave the common room, the soldier came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a copperish glow.
The priest of Vyll was enveloped in the copperish glow that was the power of his god. He was healing his wounded arm.
“Take him,” the soldier said.
Two soldiers with crossbows raised and aimed them at the priest while two others rushed the priest.
When the priest of Vyll realized they were coming for him, he tried to make a break for it. The glow vanished and he stumbled into a chair, hitting the floor.
“I am a priest of Vyll!” the man wailed. “I have done nothing!”
The soldiers reached him, grabbed his arms, put a knee in his back and bound him tightly. Then they hauled him to his feet.
“Take them to the castle.”
Father Vickor was incensed with barely controlled rage. His hand reached down for the shaft of his mace.
Jiron’s hand grabbed hold of his wrist
The priest flashed him a look of anger.
“Not our problem,” Jiron said quietly.
Father Vickor’s anger grew in intensity, then subsided. He released his mace.
“What happened?’ Kip asked with glances to the priest of Vyll who looked confused and a little bit scared.
As they led the priest and the two knifers from the common room, Father Vickor said, “I think it was because he called upon the power of his god outside his temple.” He glanced to his young novice. “We were told to restrict such activities to within our temple grounds.”
“Why?”
“Probably don’t want any competition,” Scar said.
“Or feels that it would be a threat to their sovereignty,” Shorty guessed.
Once the soldiers and their prisoners were gone, Jiron stood. “I think the night’s over.”
Father Vickor nodded. “Let’s go home.”
The city began to settle down. The citizens realized there would be no repercussions for having stood against the invaders. In fact, for most of the citizens life was better.
The average person had free healthcare. Gyomian priests roamed the streets, helping all who were in need. Those blind were made to see; lame beggars could now dance, and those afflicted with disease were cured. Yes, for the most part, the average Abu Dar citizen had come to realize that this new way of life wasn’t that bad.
Debris from the battle was all but gone, the lone holdout of destruction being the gate courtyard where a goodly portion of fallen wall remained to be dealt with. The only citizens who voiced displeasure at the current state of things were those who had relied heavily upon slave labor.
Anyone who could be labeled as having been in the trade of selling slaves was not seen again. Those who complained to the Gyomian occupation council about the hardships imposed by lack of slaves were turned away.
The first Gyomian temple sprang up two days after they took over. The first day the only worshipers were the occupiers. But as the days passed, more and more citizens attended services. Now there were four temples spread throughout Abu Dar and attendance was standing room only.
James walked the streets one night and the realization that something was amiss tugged at his mind. He couldn’t put his finger on just what and commented his feeling to Jiron.
“It’s the beggars,” Jiron replied. “They’re gone.”
That’s when it hit. There were no beggars, no derelicts of any kind. “Where did they go?”
“Abu Dar’s new leaders rounded them up,” Jiron explained. “They have been put to work restoring Abu Dar. Oh, they’re getting paid just as are the former slaves, but I heard that many would just as soon return to their previous existence. Some complain that they are no better than slaves now.”
James nodded. But it got him thinking.
When they returned to the temple, while Jiron went to see about getting a late bite to eat he went to the Viewing Room and summoned the view of Lak Tir. Just as Abu Dar, Lak Tir’s streets were devoid of beggars. Men and women walked the street though it was late at night. Zooming in close found them to be in good spirits even though they walked through a shadowy part of town.
Did Gyomian soldiery assure a peaceful life? He doubted that, in the long term, such would be the case. They had just conquered and now worked to win the hearts of their new subjects with a better life.
He had to admit, there was much about the Gyomians that he rather approved of; their dedication to cleanliness if nothing else.
Scrolling around Lak Tir, he knew from past experience that the city was clean. Garbage, horse dung, and human waste were periodically removed from the streets. With the knowledge now that they rounded up the beggars, it was easy to see who it was that cleaned the streets. No wonder many wished to return to their former job of begging. Much easier and they didn’t have to do anything.
“James.”
Snapping out of thought, he turned to the door to find Father Keller.
“Yes, Father?”
“We have a situation,” he replied. “You need to come with me, and hurry.”
Letting go the magic, James hurried from the room.
“What is it?”
“It’s the Reverend Father,” the priest explained as they stepped quickly through the manor-turned-temple.
Ever since Father Keller had savagely beaten Father Hearuka, he had noticed a difference in the priests of Morcyth. They angered more readily, often overreacted and had less patience with others.
“Now what?”
“You’ll see”
Father Keller led him out of the building and then crossed over to one of the storage buildings. Even before they entered, James could hear the shouting.
“….do not care,” Miko yelled. “I am not going to let them die.”
James walked in on Miko and Jiron, both red-faced and glaring at each other. Father Vickor stood with Miko while Tinok and Shorty stood with Jiron.
“Let who die?” James asked as they entered.
” Azza and Belli,” Miko said. His anger was clear and his eyes never left Jiron’s
“Who?”
“Two of his kids,” Jiron explained all the while maintaining eye contact with Miko. “A boy claims they went missing.”
“Father Vickor there shot out of his chair and before anyone could react, knocked the man to the ground.”
Miko gave his priest a fierce glare, who had the good sense to hang his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said sorrowfully.
“Are my priests going stir crazy?” Miko demanded. “Have they lost their minds? Maybe a good lashing would see them behave like they should!”
James was in shock. He’d never heard such a thing from his friend. “Mightn’t that be a bit extreme?” he asked. When Miko turned toward him he added, “We all have been under a great deal of pressure.”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “Though if there is any more of this foolishness, it will be dealt with most harshly.” He turned an expression of anger upon his priest. “Do we understand?”
Father Vickor nodded. “Yes, Reverend Father. I understand.”
“Good. Now what have you discovered?”
“For one thing,” Scar began then glanced to James, “that head priest you are interested in.”
“Yes?”
“He’s the High Lord Cleric or some such of Gyomias, second only to that of their High Priest,” Scar explained. “They call him ‘The Light of Gyomias’ because his mandate is to seek out and destroy the agents of the Unclean One.”
James nodded. “Then he would know the ultimate goal for this invasion.”
“That he would,” Scar agreed.
“But he’s rarely alone,” Potbelly replied. “Always has several priests in attendance.”
“And with soldiers everywhere,” Scar added, “it would be very difficult to capture him without bringing all their forces down on our heads.”
“Difficult,” James mused, “but not impossible. We have some time. I don’t think he will leave anytime soon. But then, who knows?”
“Anything on that guy who’s been so cozy with this High Lord Cleric?”
“Not so much,” Scar replied. “Heard him referred to as ‘The Slayer’ by one and ‘The Avatar of Judgment’ by a couple of soldiers we spoke with.”
“The slayer of what?” James asked
Scar shrugged.
“We didn’t get that far before…” he began then nodded toward Father Vickor.
“Right. Okay. That’s something to go on,” James said.
“Go out again tonight,” Miko told his priest. “This time without drawing attention to yourself.”
Father Vickor nodded. “Will do what I can.”
“See that you do.”
The meeting broke up and as everyone was leaving, James pulled Miko aside.
“Kind of hard on him weren’t you?”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “I do not see that this is any concern of yours.”
“You are my friend,” James said then waited for the last of the others to file out. Then he closed the door leaving them alone within the Viewing Room.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I am,” Miko said, then sighed. All the anger that had built up within him simply faded away. “Things have been tough lately.”
“Sleeping well?”
He shook his head. “No. I am plagued nightly with restless dreams.”
“I’ve had several too,” James admitted. He thought back to the dream where Igor said he was running out of time. He’d spoken to Miko about it but they could not decipher whatever message Igor had tried to impart.
In the dream Igor had said, “You are where you need to be. Learn, understand, act!” The ‘where’ had to be Abu Dar. But what was he supposed to learn, to understand and then what was he supposed to do? Trying to figure it all out kept him awake at night
And “That which must be done, you would never do.” What must be done and why would he never do it? It was enough to drive him crazy.
“I am still no closer to figuring it out,” James admitted.
“There is something we are overlooking,” Miko said. “Some piece of the puzzle that eludes us.”
“What worries me is, what if we don’t learn what needs learning in time? What if by the time we do, it’s too late?”
Miko laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It will not be.”
James didn’t feel so optimistic. Even if they figure out what must be done, apparently Igor thinks he won’t do it. Why wouldn’t he do it? What could it be? Why can’t Igor just be clear and precise? Go here, learn this specific bit of info, then travel over there and do what needs doing.
Sometimes, he gets real irritated with that little creature.
“We know more than we did.” Miko said after watching the wheels turn in James’ brain for a bit.
“True.” James agreed. “If we can just capture either the Lord High Cleric or this Slayer, then we would learn all we need.”
“Think we can?”
James shrugged. “Let’s hope so. If anyone can figure out a way, it’ll be Jiron or Scar.”
Miko agreed.
Turning back to the viewing table, he brought the temple grounds into focus, then had the image scroll until the Lord High Cleric came into view.
He was talking with the Slayer, or was he called the Avatar of Judgment? Or both? Considering how much death has been dealt with the invasion, James figured to just call the man in leathers the Slayer.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A night out was always fun. Better than being stuck in the temple grounds with either drudgery or boring hours of learning the finer points of being a priest. Kip was happy.
Bards of any quality were extremely rare these days in Abu Dar. Most had fled before the siege and the few who remained were in the employ of the wealthy. There at The Fat Merchant Inn, all they had was a lone piper that hit every sixth note off-key. The worst day in a tavern beats the best day at studies. Kip forgot who told him that, probably Scar, but that sure was right.
Father Vickor sat beside him. The Reverend Father told Kip before they left to make sure that under no circumstances was Father Vickor to get into a fight.
He thought about arguing the point, for why would a Father listen to a no-nothing Novice anyway. Saying he’d do his best, he skipped out and joined the crowd heading out for a night of it.
Jiron was with them, as was his friend Tinok. Scar and Potbelly were there, as was the knife thrower Shorty. Of those, Kip preferred being with Shorty. He got along well with the knifer; the others made him uncomfortable.
Upon entering The Fat Merchant Inn, Father Vickor was greeted with a hoorah from several men who they quickly learned had once been soldiers of Abu Dar. Having given their pardon, and their word that they would keep the peace, they had been released.
On the surface, such an act of releasing your enemy while the war still waged seemed fraught with potential hazards, it seemed to be working for Abu Dar’s new masters. Trouble had been nearly non-existent following their occupation.
The soldiers had had an injured buddy in with Father Vickor when the storehouse collapsed. They bought him several rounds, sang a song or two with him, then departed with their thanks for saving their comrade.
“Everyone likes you,” Kip said after the two men left.
“Always be friendly and helpful, young Kip,” the priest replied sagely. “Never know what benefits such will garner.”
Kip nodded wisely as he thought about that.
Father Vickor was not the only priest taking an ale in the common room of The Fat Merchant Inn. So too was a young priest of Vyll, god of luck, gamblers and thieves. Vyll never had a great following of priests, though they were often seen on the seedier side of life. When someone wins greatly at games of chance, they would often say a prayer of thanks to Vyll.
The priest didn’t look like he could have reached his twentieth year. Though the man tried for a beard to cover his youthful face, it hadn’t come in completely and just looked bad in every way. He watched a game of knucklebones and would at times say a blessing upon the one casting the ‘bones. His blessings didn’t always work out well for the caster from what Kip could see. Vyll was a capricious god whose favor could not always be counted upon.
Scar leaned close to Kip and nudged his arm. “I think that girl over there likes you.”
“What?” Kip asked, glancing to where Scar pointed.
A lovely, dark haired girl of Empire lineage still in her teens cast a glance his way. Upon seeing him looking, flashed a smile.
Face reddening, Kip averted his eyes.
“She’s been eyeing you for some time,” Scar said. “Go over there.”
Kip shook his head and stammered, “I…I don’t think she’s interested in me.”
Casting another look her way, Kip saw her again looking at him.
“No doubt about it,” Scar said with a chuckle. “She’s got a bad case of Kipness.”
Father Vickor scowled at Scar. “Would you leave my novice alone?”
“What’s the harm?” Scar asked. “He’s getting to be a young man. Can’t keep him from the girls for long.”
“If you would leave that to me,” Father Vickor replied, “I would be most appreciative.”
Scar shrugged. “As you wish.” Then to a quiet aside to Kip he said, “Go for it.”
As luck would have it, the man the girl was with, considering that she and him shared the same general appearance had to be her father, caught his daughter looking at Kip. Eyes narrowing, he got to his feet.
“Uh-oh,” Scar said. “You might be in trouble.”
“What?” Kip asked in a panic. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”
The man gestured for his daughter to get up and they left The Fat Merchant Inn.
Scar slapped Kip on the back. “That was close.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Kip insisted.
“A father doesn’t care what you do or do not do if he thinks you’re a threat to his daughter’s virtue.”
“You got that right,” Potbelly agreed. “Remember that time in Fort Chambers and that little slip of a girl who had eyes for you?”
Scar laughed. “She was too young and I was not interested. But her father tried to filet my gizzard with a butcher knife.”
“What happened?” Kip asked, thankful for the focus of the conversation to be off of himself.
“Well, it all started when me and Potbelly took a holiday to the coast…”
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, Scar regaled all with exploits that walked the knife’s edge of believability. When he got to the part where he and Potbelly engaged a dozen cutthroats in the back of a sleazy dive, a woman’s scream pierced the general murmur of the common room.
Two men with knives were going at each other.
Patrons scattered and tables were overturned as everyone moved back. Those engaged in knucklebones kept their place and ignored the fight though they were only two tables over.
Vyll’s priest stood and walked to the two combatants.
“Don’t do it,” Potbelly mumbled as the priest drew near.
“Do what?” Kip asked.
“Get between them. They got blood in their eyes and I don’t think…”
Knives flashed and Vyll’s priest staggered back with a slice down his arm.
“That was stupid,” Potbelly continued. “Never get between men in a knife fight.”
The two men grappled one another, each man’s free hand having hold of the other’s knife hand. They fought for dominance and it looked like the bigger of the two was going to overcome the other.
But then half a dozen Gyomian soldiers entered and pulled the men apart stopping the fight. One soldier took their knives and his men bound the fighter’s hands.
“No public fighting,” the soldier announced.
About to leave the common room, the soldier came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a copperish glow.
The priest of Vyll was enveloped in the copperish glow that was the power of his god. He was healing his wounded arm.
“Take him,” the soldier said.
Two soldiers with crossbows raised and aimed them at the priest while two others rushed the priest.
When the priest of Vyll realized they were coming for him, he tried to make a break for it. The glow vanished and he stumbled into a chair, hitting the floor.
“I am a priest of Vyll!” the man wailed. “I have done nothing!”
The soldiers reached him, grabbed his arms, put a knee in his back and bound him tightly. Then they hauled him to his feet.
“Take them to the castle.”
Father Vickor was incensed with barely controlled rage. His hand reached down for the shaft of his mace.
Jiron’s hand grabbed hold of his wrist
The priest flashed him a look of anger.
“Not our problem,” Jiron said quietly.
Father Vickor’s anger grew in intensity, then subsided. He released his mace.
“What happened?’ Kip asked with glances to the priest of Vyll who looked confused and a little bit scared.
As they led the priest and the two knifers from the common room, Father Vickor said, “I think it was because he called upon the power of his god outside his temple.” He glanced to his young novice. “We were told to restrict such activities to within our temple grounds.”
“Why?”
“Probably don’t want any competition,” Scar said.
“Or feels that it would be a threat to their sovereignty,” Shorty guessed.
Once the soldiers and their prisoners were gone, Jiron stood. “I think the night’s over.”
Father Vickor nodded. “Let’s go home.”
The city began to settle down. The citizens realized there would be no repercussions for having stood against the invaders. In fact, for most of the citizens life was better.
The average person had free healthcare. Gyomian priests roamed the streets, helping all who were in need. Those blind were made to see; lame beggars could now dance, and those afflicted with disease were cured. Yes, for the most part, the average Abu Dar citizen had come to realize that this new way of life wasn’t that bad.
Debris from the battle was all but gone, the lone holdout of destruction being the gate courtyard where a goodly portion of fallen wall remained to be dealt with. The only citizens who voiced displeasure at the current state of things were those who had relied heavily upon slave labor.
Anyone who could be labeled as having been in the trade of selling slaves was not seen again. Those who complained to the Gyomian occupation council about the hardships imposed by lack of slaves were turned away.
The first Gyomian temple sprang up two days after they took over. The first day the only worshipers were the occupiers. But as the days passed, more and more citizens attended services. Now there were four temples spread throughout Abu Dar and attendance was standing room only.
James walked the streets one night and the realization that something was amiss tugged at his mind. He couldn’t put his finger on just what and commented his feeling to Jiron.
“It’s the beggars,” Jiron replied. “They’re gone.”
That’s when it hit. There were no beggars, no derelicts of any kind. “Where did they go?”
“Abu Dar’s new leaders rounded them up,” Jiron explained. “They have been put to work restoring Abu Dar. Oh, they’re getting paid just as are the former slaves, but I heard that many would just as soon return to their previous existence. Some complain that they are no better than slaves now.”
James nodded. But it got him thinking.
When they returned to the temple, while Jiron went to see about getting a late bite to eat he went to the Viewing Room and summoned the view of Lak Tir. Just as Abu Dar, Lak Tir’s streets were devoid of beggars. Men and women walked the street though it was late at night. Zooming in close found them to be in good spirits even though they walked through a shadowy part of town.
Did Gyomian soldiery assure a peaceful life? He doubted that, in the long term, such would be the case. They had just conquered and now worked to win the hearts of their new subjects with a better life.
He had to admit, there was much about the Gyomians that he rather approved of; their dedication to cleanliness if nothing else.
Scrolling around Lak Tir, he knew from past experience that the city was clean. Garbage, horse dung, and human waste were periodically removed from the streets. With the knowledge now that they rounded up the beggars, it was easy to see who it was that cleaned the streets. No wonder many wished to return to their former job of begging. Much easier and they didn’t have to do anything.
“James.”
Snapping out of thought, he turned to the door to find Father Keller.
“Yes, Father?”
“We have a situation,” he replied. “You need to come with me, and hurry.”
Letting go the magic, James hurried from the room.
“What is it?”
“It’s the Reverend Father,” the priest explained as they stepped quickly through the manor-turned-temple.
Ever since Father Keller had savagely beaten Father Hearuka, he had noticed a difference in the priests of Morcyth. They angered more readily, often overreacted and had less patience with others.
“Now what?”
“You’ll see”
Father Keller led him out of the building and then crossed over to one of the storage buildings. Even before they entered, James could hear the shouting.
“….do not care,” Miko yelled. “I am not going to let them die.”
James walked in on Miko and Jiron, both red-faced and glaring at each other. Father Vickor stood with Miko while Tinok and Shorty stood with Jiron.
“Let who die?” James asked as they entered.
” Azza and Belli,” Miko said. His anger was clear and his eyes never left Jiron’s
“Who?”
“Two of his kids,” Jiron explained all the while maintaining eye contact with Miko. “A boy claims they went missing.”
