The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven Read online

  As far as the Empire soldiery still out in the field, here around Al-Ziron there are no forces of any size. To the east, with help from the Kirkens, the Empire has been thrown back to the previous border. To the west the battle still rages but it’s only a matter of time before the Empire is forced completely out of Madoc.

  “You okay?” a woman’s voice asks.

  Turning around, he finds Tersa walking toward him.

  “Better,” he replies. “Still not great.” He can see the weariness in her eyes, eyes that have witnessed too much battle. “How about you?”

  Shrugging, she gazes over the battlements to the west. With the last rays of the setting sun shining upon her face she says, “I just want to go home.”

  He understands how she feels. However, the area between here and Kern is not safe. There are still roving bands of Empire forces on the move, not to mention one or two bands of mercenaries out looking for mischief. The southern route to Cardri is not safe at the moment.

  The Merchant’s Pass, according to all reports, has yet to reopen and probably won’t until the hostilities further subside. So that leaves the northern route through Dragon’s Pass. The area due north of Al-Ziron is firmly in the hands of Madoc and once at the Sea they could turn west and make it to the Pass with relative safety.

  “Has Jiron talked with you yet?” he asks.

  She shakes her head in reply.

  “He wants to go in search of Tinok badly,” he explains. “But his need for keeping you safe is more important to him.” He pauses as she turns to look at him. “So in the morning we’re going to ride north and escort you, Delia and anyone else who wishes to return home to Dragon’s Pass.”

  “What about Tinok?” she asks. “This could take days or even weeks.” In her eyes is the fear that because of her, Tinok might die.

  “Illan’s going to loan us spare horses,” he explains. “If we ride hard, we should make it there and back in just over a week.”

  She looks at him skeptically. “That isn’t going to leave you much time,” she states.

  “What good will Jiron be if we leave you here with Illan?” he asks. “His state of mind will be shot. Besides it’s not just you but Delia too. She’s a trader at heart, not a warrior. From what I understand she’s managed to get Devin and the others to be guards for her caravan when she returns.”

  Smiling, she asks, “How did she do that?”

  Shrugging, he replies, “I don’t know. Maybe they finally got sick and tired of all the blood and guts. Caravan guard duty is less valorous, but you stand a good chance of surviving it.”

  Giving out with a slight chuckle, she says, “True.”

  Illan offered them all a position in the command structure he’s creating to secure the southern border. Only Jorry, Uther and Yern took him up on it. The pit fighters, when they learned that James and Jiron were going in search of Tinok, turned him down. If Tinok is in trouble, they wanted to help. Illan informed them that the offer stands should they ever change their minds. There are few enough people that he feels he can completely trust, and those that have ridden with him the last year are among them.

  Even at this late hour, riders continue to pass through the main gates. Most are scouts and messengers, though a few are civilian in nature though not many. Some of the freed slaves they brought out of the Empire decided to remain with Black Hawk and have taken service here at Al-Ziron. Those who wished to continue further into Madoc in search of home or loved ones have already done so.

  At the gates the grizzled old timer Nerun, along with a squad of men, questions everyone who passes through. Their job is to see to it that no spies of the Empire enter the fortress.

  “Illan’s giving us a send-off tonight in the main hall,” he tells her.

  “I heard that,” she replies. “Seems he even dug up several musicians.”

  “Probably just soldiers with some talent,” he guesses.

  “We should get ready, it’s going to start soon,” she says. “That’s what I came up here to tell you.”

  “Very well,” he says and then follows her down from the battlements.

  Wounded are lying in rows across the courtyard. Fortunately for them, it hasn’t begun to rain yet and it doesn’t look as if it will for some time. James and Tersa are forced to make their way around pockets of wounded as they head for the main hall. Off to one side they see Miko with the Star healing a man with a bloody rag tied around his face. Brother Willim and the other two remaining members of the Hand are elsewhere in the courtyard helping others, green glows surround each of them.

  “I’ll meet you inside,” he tells her.

  “Okay,” she replies and then continues on toward the main hall.

  Angling over toward Miko, he sees him still kneeling next to the man with the head injury. Just as he draws close, the glow from the Star winks out and Miko sighs. A healer who has been assisting him removes the bandage from his face to reveal a pink line where a jagged cut had been moments before.

  Miko looks up at him with weary eyes.

  Offering a hand, James helps him to his feet. “How much longer are you going to be?” he asks.

  “As long as it takes,” he replies.

  “You’re dead on your feet now,” states James. Glancing around at the wounded still waiting for Miko’s attention he says, “None of these men will die if you get some rest.”

  “I know,” he says. “But I can shorten their recovery time and perhaps some will be able to have better lives because of what I do.”

  James nods, he can understand where he’s coming from. “We’re leaving in the morning,” he tells him. “A quick ride north to see Tersa and the others safely to the border of Madoc then we set out in search of Tinok.”

  Miko nods his head as he comes to a man who lost two fingers during the battle. The man’s comrade sitting on the ground next to him holds a blood soaked rag containing the severed digits. “I’ll be there,” he assures him.

  “Get some rest if you can,” he suggests.

  Taking the bloody rag containing the fingers, he turns to look at James and says, “No promises.” Then he removes the digits and has the man’s comrade hold them in place as the glow shines forth from the Star.

  Leaving Miko to his healing, James heads toward the main hall. Jiron is standing on the steps having just witnessed him with Miko. “He’s not coming to the dinner?” he asks.

  Shaking his head, James replies, “No. I doubt if I would in his place.” Glancing at Jiron he adds, “Some things are more important.”

  “You got that right,” he agrees. Just like Miko, he’s torn between what he wants to do and what he must. Tinok or Tersa? A hard choice but Tersa won out even though he still agonizes over the decision. He simply could not let her and the others brave the trip through war torn Madoc by themselves. If something should happen, he never would have forgiven himself.

  Side by side, the two friends pass through the archway leading to the main hall. As they enter the short hallway that goes from the archway to the main hall, music begins to play. Not great music, but at least the musicians are all on the same beat. Walking down the hallway, they approach the doors leading into the festivities.

  Not a great many people were invited to the feast; the old time Raiders, the crew from The Ranch and several others whom James doesn’t know. He wishes Lord Pytherian had remained but he and his men had left shortly after Illan agreed to take over the southern defenses. He and his men were needed in the west to finish the job there.

  Upon entering the hall, Illan who’s dressed in regular clothes waves them over. Off to one side are the three musicians, though they look the part of scruffy old soldiers more, who fill the hall with music.

  When they take their seats, he leans forward to better be heard over the musicians. “Word came that another force is on its way up from the south,” he tells them. “Should be here in a day or two.”

  “How many?” asks Jiron.

  “Not enough to caus
e us any problems,” Illan assures him. “It may be a delegation to discuss the cessation of hostilities.”

  “That would be welcome news indeed,” nods James. “Are they going to want their fort back?”

  Illan laughs, “Probably. But they’re not going to get it. Reports say that they stripped their southern territories of soldiers in anticipation of the summer’s campaign in Madoc. Most of those have been slaughtered since our first attack at Lythylla.”

  Just then Delia comes in from one of the side entrances, with her hand resting on Shorty’s arm. When they join them, Shorty has a big smile on his face and Jiron arcs an eyebrow at Delia.

  “Oh stop what you’re thinking right now,” she says, a slight blush coming to her face. “It’s nothing like that.”

  James glances questioningly to Shorty who grins and says, “I asked her if she would like an escort and she said yes.”

  “Escort,” snorts Jiron.

  Shorty pulls out her chair for her and holds it while she sits down.

  “Thank you,” she says to him.

  “You are welcomed milady,” he replies with a bow. Then he moves down the table and takes his seat.

  “…I tell you it is true!” Potbelly’s voice comes to them before he enters through the main doors. Scar, who’s walking beside him nods in agreement.

  “Oh lord now what?” James says.

  Jorry and Uther walk with them and you can see they aren’t buying whatever it is the other two are saying.

  “I swear it! She had three breasts,” continues Scar.

  “In your dreams maybe,” counters Jorry.

  Uther crosses to their table and asks Jiron, “Have you ever heard of a three breasted woman?”

  “Can’t say as I have,” he replies.

  “Ha!” Jorry exclaims. “I thought not.”

  “He wouldn’t have known her,” insists Potbelly, “she only came to our fights. Once in awhile she would invite us back to her place for a little entertainment.”

  Under his breath Uther says, “I bet it was little.”

  “Ah, what do you know from anything?” blusters Scar.

  “I know a lie when I hear one,” retorts Jorry.

  “Enough!” shouts Illan.

  The entire hall falls quiet and the musicians abruptly stop as all eyes turn to them. Realizing they are now the center of attention, they glare at each other and take their seats at the table. When no further commotion happens, the musicians resume their play and the normal murmur of the guests returns.

  Devin and the rest of the recruits arrive as a group and take their places at a nearby table. The last to enter is Aleya. When Jiron sees her he freezes in place. From somewhere in this fortress she’s found a dazzling blue dress that fits her perfectly.

  Delia reaches over and pushes up his chin to close his mouth. “Go over there and escort her to her chair,” she urges.

  Getting up, he hurries over and just as Shorty did with Delia, he offers her his arm. Placing her hand upon his forearm, she strolls with him back to their seats. James gets up and offers her his chair so she can sit next to Jiron.

  “Thank you,” she says as she takes the offered seat.

  Jiron practically thrusts James out of the way so he can be the one to push her chair closer to the table once she’s seated.

  Rather than be angry at the rude way he was pushed, James grins at Jiron.

  Once James and Jiron have taken their seats, Illan stands and takes his goblet in hand. Banging it three times on the table, he stands and waits until the hall has quieted. Nodding to the two guards at the other end of the hall, he signals for them to close the main doors.

  With every eye on him, he raises his goblet and says, “For Madoc. May her future be better than her past.”

  Throughout the hall, glasses are raised as the guests cry out, “For Madoc!”

  Once everyone has taken a drink and thus honored the toast, Illan sets his goblet down and says, “Friends and comrades. I for one never thought I would host a dinner here in the fortress of Al-Ziron.” At that several chuckles sound out from various men in the hall.

  “Tonight we honor one who more than any other made this happen,” he says. Picking up his goblet once more, he turns to James and says, “To James. Mage and ally of Madoc, without whom Madoc would even now be grinding under the heel of the Empire.”

  “To James!” the cry resounds throughout the hall. Jiron glances to his friend and grins. He knows how James hates the spotlight and would rather just sit at the fringe observing.

  “Now,” announces Illan, “let the feast begin!”

  From the sides of the hall, men bearing platters of food enter and begin sitting them on the tables. Not a great variety, nor are there any specialized treats, this is the best that can be had on short notice.

  During the meal, the talk gravitates from the past, to the future then back to the present. All are hoping for a complete and quick halt to the war. Once the feast begins to wind down, Delia takes Shorty by the hand and soon has him out on the floor dancing. Aleya, not one to be outdone, drags Jiron out as well.

  The night is spent with feasting, music and friendship. They all try to forget that their group will soon be splitting up as James and those going with him leave on the morrow. At one point the musicians fall silent and are given a break while Jorry and Uther regale those at the feast with a tale of how they got the better of an assassin who was trying to kill Jorry. Seems he besmirched the daughter of a well-to-do merchant who hired the assassin to take care of him. One thing led to another and the assassin was eventually handed over to the town guard and the matter was never again brought up.

  When they finished their tale, the listeners responded with a vigorous applause. Scar and Potbelly were about to start in on one of their own when the musicians started up again. Scar glances over to the musicians and was about ready to tell them to stop when he sees Delia standing there next to them. Giving him a glare and shaking her head, she moves to Yern and drags him out to the dance floor. Apparently she wanted to dance more than hear another of his wild tales.

  About this time, Miko makes an appearance. Blood soaked clothes and some serious bags under his eyes, he walks through the main doors. James notices in one hand he’s holding a half eaten tart. Where he managed to acquire one of those he has no idea.

  Plopping into the seat next to him, Miko stuffs the remainder of the tart in his mouth.

  “Where did you get that?” James asks him.

  “The cook,” he replies. “One of the men I healed was his brother. He asked me what my favorite food was and I replied ‘Tarts, though I doubt if there are any to be had here.’ Well, two hours later here he comes with a plate containing half a dozen steaming hot tarts.”

  “Don’t suppose you have any left?” he inquires.

  Looking somewhat guilty, Miko shakes his head. “Sorry, that was the last one.”

  James pats him on the shoulder and gives him a grin. “That’s okay,” he says. “After all you’ve done for everyone, you deserve them.”

  “Next time I’ll save one for you,” he assures him.

  A few minutes later, Brother Willim and the other two priests of Asran enter the hall and make their way toward them. When Brother Willim draws close James indicates the chair recently vacated by Jiron while he’s out dancing with Aleya.

  Taking the seat, Brother Willim leans back in the chair and sighs. The other two priests join Derek and the others at their table.

  “Tired?” asks James.

  “Yes, very,” he replies. Nodding to Miko he adds, “I think between Miko, my brothers, and I many lives were saved. What there is left can be readily dealt with by the healers.” A server brings him a cup of ale and he downs it in one gulp. Giving out with a satisfied ‘aah’ he sets the cup on the table where another servant carrying a pitcher comes forward and refills it. “Thank you my son,” he says to the server as he takes up his cup once more. The server nods and immediately withdraws back to th
e wall where he scans the assembled guests for anyone else in need of a refill.

  “I heard you are leaving in the morning?” asks Brother Willim after taking one more swallow of ale.

  “That’s right,” replies James. “We’re going to escort several of our comrades to Cardri. Most of them aren’t really suited for warfare.”

  “None of us really are,” he states. After pausing for another drink he says, “I would still like to accompany you if you don’t mind.”

  “What about your fallen brothers?” he asks. “Aren’t you going to escort them back with the other two?”

  “No,” he answers. “My brethren can do that well enough, what I needed to do has already been done.”

  James is delighted to have such a man journey with him. But then a thought comes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with me being the ‘Gardener’ would it? If I remember right, you called me that during that last big battle in the desert.”

  Brother Willim gets a crooked grin and nods. “Somewhat, yes,” he replies.

  “Just what does it mean that I’m the Gardener?” he asks.

  “There’s an old prophecy handed down from old…,” he begins.

  “Isn’t there always,” interrupts James with a sigh.

  “What?” questions Illan who had been listening in on the conversation.

  Not realizing he had spoken aloud, James turns to him and says, “Oh, nothing.” Then to Brother Willim he says, “Sorry for interrupting you, please continue.”

  “Centuries ago, a man came to one of our lord Asran’s temples,” he continues. “Which one I’ll not say. The man was wracked with fever and eventually slipped into the sleep of the dead. Not completely dead yet not completely alive either.”

  Must have been in a coma, reasons James.

  “During the time when he lay in the sleep of the dead, there were times when he spoke. At first the priests attending him thought his words were gibberish until one old scholarly priest realized the man was speaking in a language long dead to the world of men. Only the most learned scholars still understood the language, some of the oldest surviving tomes we have are written in it.”