The Mists of Sorrow: The Morcyth Saga Book Seven (13 page)

“Oh,” says Stig slightly embarrassed, “that
makes sense.”

“Alright,” Ceadric says, “there’s an hour or
so until sunset. Once it begins growing dark I will return and
escort you through the back ways down to the stables. Then those of
you who have no armor will be fitted with a breastplate and helm.
When you are away from the keep, you can return the armor to Hedry
and he and his men will bring it back once their patrol is
over.”

“In your horses’ saddlebags, you will find
clothes that will enable you to blend in with the citizens of the
Empire.” Turning to James he asks, “Did you wish a translator?”

“I think that would be best,” he says.

“Very well, I’ll have him meet you there.”
Before he leaves he asks, “Is there anything else?”

Shaking his head, James says, “Not that I
can think of.”

“Then I will return when it is dark.” With
that, he heads for the door and exits to the hallway. Closing the
door behind him, they can hear his footsteps as he makes his way
toward the stairs.

James commences to fill his plate and then
stops when his eyes catch something. He stares at Miko until Miko
asks, “What?”

Smiling, he says, “I never saw a high priest
before with tart jelly smeared across his cheek.” Laughter fills
the room as Miko wipes the jelly off his reddening face.

Now, almost two hours later, James stands at
the window in the darkened room looking out into the night. A knock
at the door breaks the stillness and when Jiron opens it, light
comes in from where Ceadric stands in the hallway with a
lantern.

“It’s time,” he says.

Coming from the window, James along with the
others pick up their things. Leaving the dark room behind, they
follow Ceadric down the hallway to the stairs where they descend
all the way down to the bottom.

Once they leave the stairwell, Ceadric takes
them through hallways other than those they used to initially reach
the tower. Few servants are about, those they encounter pay them
little attention.

They finally arrive at a locked door where
Ceadric pauses a moment and produces a key that unlocks it. Pushing
the door open, the unmistakable odor of straw and horse manure
comes to them.

Hedry along with a dozen other Raiders whom
they recognize turn toward them when they hear the door open.

“Everything set?” asks Ceadric as he moves
into the stable.

“Yes sir,” replies Hedry. He and his men
begin equipping those who need it with armor they brought. All that
is except Brother Willim who dons a plain dark cloak which is as
far as he’s willing to go.

Ceadric waves over a soldier who comes and
joins him while he helps James into his armor. “This is Reilin,” he
says. “He’s willing to accompany you and be your interpreter.”

“Welcome aboard, Reilin,” James says in
greeting.

Reilin merely nods in reply. Standing a hair
over six feet, he makes an imposing figure with his jet black
hair.

“Are the gates still being watched?” Jiron
asks.

“Last we checked they were,” Ceadric
replies. “Don’t worry, I doubt if they’ll suspect anything.”

“Let’s hope not,” says James.

When at last they are all suitably attired
in armor, they mount their horses. James and Miko need help, the
additional weight of the armor making it difficult for them to make
it up. With the aid of two Raiders, they manage to get into the
saddle.

Hedry mounts and looks back. “Form it up
back there,” he commands. James and the rest tighten their
formation with Brother Willim in the middle. “We leave the barn and
head straight for the gates. No talking or stopping.” After
receiving acknowledgement for the plan, he turns back toward the
stable’s exit and nudges his horse into motion.

They leave the stable and begin crossing the
open courtyard toward the gate. As they draw near, a clank is heard
and the portcullis begins to be drawn up. On the other side of the
wall is a group of four men dressed in Empire attire not more than
ten feet from the gate. Standing around a fire, they turn at the
raising of the portcullis.

One of the men comes forward and asks good
naturedly, “Out for no good again Hedry?”

“You know it Ezzin,” he replies. “You’ll
have to wait to win your gold back for a few days I’m afraid.”

Laughing, Ezzin says, “See you when you
return.”

As James and the rest pass by the area where
Ezzin and his comrades take their ease by the fire, his anxiety
rises with fear of being discovered. But he has little to worry
about as Ezzin and the others hardly give them more than a cursory
glance. Still, he doesn’t relax until they are swallowed by the
night and the light from Ezzin’s fire disappears in the dark.

“You know him?” asks Potbelly.

“Ezzin?” asks Hedry. “Oh sure. He likes to
lose at cards and I’m quite happy to oblige him.” Several men
chuckle at that. “You would be surprised what one can learn during
a friendly game of cards.”

They ride to the southeast in the dark with
only the stars and the moon above to light their way for an hour
before Hedry brings them to a halt. “Here’s where we part ways,” he
tells them.

Removing the armor they used to disguise
themselves, they return it to Hedry and his men who pack it away
behind their saddles. “I appreciate this,” James tells him once the
heavy weight of the armor is gone.

“Not a problem,” he replies. “Just hope you
find what you’re looking for.”

“So do I,” James tells him.

With farewells passing from one group to the
other, Hedry gets his men moving and soon James and the others are
left alone in the night.

“Which way?” asks Jiron. Now that they are
finally on their way to find Tinok, his impatience is getting the
better of him.

“Better head south until daylight,” says
James. “When it’s light I’ll try to get a better idea of where he
is.”

“South it is,” Jiron says and they get
underway.

James glances with foreboding at the moon
shining above them. Now less than three weeks before the Shroud of
Killian once again blinds the Giant’s Eye, he fervently hopes they
can find Tinok before it’s too late.

After their initial grief over losing the
members of their village to the grayness in the desert, Zyrn sent a
rider south. He hoped that when the rider reaches the temple he’ll
be able to convince someone to come and deal with this. The rider
was none too happy about the fact that the only temple close was
that of Dmon-Li. After all, their priests were none too helpful to
the ordinary man.

The day following Zyrn’s return to the
village, he along with several others returns to the gray area. He
makes sure to keep his distance, the memory of his friend’s death
within the grayness still very much on his mind. When they finally
reach the border of the gray area, Zyrn has the feeling it didn’t
take him nearly as long to reach it as it did last time.

Only one of those who accompanied him this
time had been with him last time. Kabu, one of the ones who are
seeing the grayness for the first time, sits there on his horse
with eyes wide and mouth open. It seems as if the grayness extends
all the way to the horizon. “I can’t believe this,” he says.

“Believe it,” asserts Zyrn. “Don’t go near
it or it may kill you.”

“Why are we here?” another asks.

Coming to a stop well back from the edge of
the grayness, Zyrn removes a bundle from behind his saddle. Laying
it on the ground, he unrolls the cloth to reveal six Parvati
longswords. Picking up one of the swords acquired during their
initial scavenging expedition, he begins walking toward the edge of
the grayness.

“The last time I was here…” he explains then
stops and glances back to where the others remain with the horses.
“It’s safe enough to come a little closer,” he assures them.

“If it’s all the same,” Kabu says, “we’ll
stay right here.”

Sighing with a shake of his head, Zyrn
resumes his trek to the edge of the grayness. “As I was saying,” he
begins again, this time raising his voice so the others can hear
him better, “the last time I was here, I saw it expand.”

Stopping three feet from the edge of the
shimmering grayness, he eyes it warily. Grasping the hilt of the
sword, he holds it point downward. Raising the hilt as high as he
can, he thrusts it into the ground. The blade sinks half a foot
before coming to a stop. Making sure it is securely in the ground,
he then turns back and hurries to rejoin the others.

“What I want to do is see how fast it is
growing,” he explains as he reaches the others. “By placing these
swords along its edge every fifty feet or so, we’ll get a good idea
of what it’s doing.”

“Why?” asks one of the men as Zyrn takes
another sword.

Zyrn stops and looks the man in the eye. “I
don’t want to wake up one night to find it at our village,” he
says. “Or worse yet, not waking up because it is encompassing our
village.”

Striding off to the right of the spot where
he placed the first sword, he goes approximately fifty feet from
where the first blade is in the ground before coming to a stop.
Trying to place the sword exactly the same distance from the edge
of the grayness as the other, he thrusts it into the ground. Again
making sure the sword will remain standing upright, he returns for
another.

Again and again he takes the swords and
thrusts them into the ground at the edge of the grayness. When all
six swords are firmly fixed into the ground, he stands back and
looks at them.

“Now what?” asks one of the men.

Gesturing to the swords he says, “Look at
where the swords stand.”

After they look for a few seconds one of
them asks, “So?”

“Can’t you see?” he asks. “They do not mark
the edge of a circle.”

Taking another look the men see what he is
trying to explain. Instead of a smooth circular line, the swords
mark areas that extend further out than others.

“It isn’t growing consistently,” Zyrn
summarizes. “Rather different areas are pushing out at different
rates.”

“Guess your time at the School paid off,”
Kabu says.

“The High Lord Magus would know what to do,”
he explains. “Though by the time word reached him it might be too
late for our village.”

“What now?” asks one of the men.

“Now we wait,” he says. “Learn as much as we
can about it so when the priest gets here we can give him some idea
of what he’s facing.”

“Look!” one of the men says as he points to
the first sword Zyrn placed in the ground. Already the edge of the
grayness has reached the blade and is creeping past. Glancing to
the others, they see that the grayness in those areas has not moved
forward at all.

“Let’s return home and come back tomorrow,”
he says. “Then we will know how fast it is spreading.”

Mounting their horses, they turn around and
race back to their village.

Day after day they return, Zyrn continues
bringing six swords to mark the new edge of the grayness. Though it
is spreading, it isn’t spreading very fast. As near as Zyrn can
figure, the grayness is advancing around six feet per day. Some
areas advance faster while others not so much. Overall, it is
keeping a somewhat consistent shape. Should one area advance six or
more feet one day, the next day it may only advance a foot or two
allowing the rest to catch up.

The mood of the village is gradually
worsening. Talk is beginning to spread that they are cursed because
they stole from the dead, that the gods are angry with them. Some
believe the grayness is their punishment.

After the third day, others from various
villages in the area can be seen as they too keep an eye on the
advancing carpet of gray. Zyrn confers with other learned men from
the different villages but this is beyond them. Still no word from
the rider he sent to the south, he can only watch and wait.

By the fifth day, no one bothers coming out
with Zyrn. Talk of the area being cursed by the gods and other such
nonsense has kept anyone else from even thinking about going out
there.

In the late afternoon of the fifth day, he
again goes out and marks the edge of the shimmering gray area. Four
rings of swords now stand within its boundary, every ring marking a
different day. Zyrn shakes his head, worried over where this might
lead if nothing is done to curb its growth. But what can be done
about it?

On his way back home, he tries to think
about what could possibly halt the spreading of the grayness.
Halfway back to his village, he encounters a score of people from
his village coming his way. Among them are the ones who have been
most vocal about the gray sand being a punishment of the gods.

As he approaches them, he takes note of
Khalim, the only young man to have survived the ill-fated second
expedition to the battlefield. That is if you can call having lost
his mind and constantly gibbering incoherently surviving. Nothing
they’ve attempted has done anything to restore his mind back to
him.

A feeling of dread comes over Zyrn when he
sees Khalim’s arms are bound behind him. The grim set of the men’s
faces does nothing to alleviate the feeling. Kicking his horse
faster, he rushes to meet the approaching group.

“What are you doing with him?” he asks,
gesturing to Khalim.

“We go to appease the gods,” replies Maki,
the one who has most fervently purported the theory of the gods
being angry.

“Khalim has brought this doom upon us,”
another states. “Had he died with the others, the grayness would
not be seeking him.”

“Is that what you think?” asks Zyrn in
disbelief.

“Yes,” asserts Maki. “Only his death at the
hands of the grayness will appease the gods.”

“You are wrong!” Zyrn exclaims. “He is
blameless for this!” Bringing his horse before Maki he says, “I
will not allow you to do this.”