Tides of Faith: Travail of The Dark Mage Book Two (44 page)

Power surged and struck.

Pausing only a moment, Leathers
countered with the might of Gyomias and overthrew the attack. Its
source lay not far ahead; he could now clearly sense its location.
Many priests were gathered round the Heart; twenty, maybe
more.

“We have arrived.”

The wave of Pets and Torments crashed
upon the rocks of righteousness and were sundered. Leathers gave
them little heed; his focus was on the Heart and those surrounding
it. When the last minion of evil was vanquished, darkness of the
fellest kind built around the Heart. With its every beat the evil
deepened.

Leathers felt priests
dropping as the Heart drained their life, drawing it into itself;
adding to its power. Through a miniscule strand of magic twining
from him, back out of the darkness, and to a Gyomar standing just
without, he sent the message,
“Stand
ready.”

Others stationed in a continuous
line-of-sight along the temple’s dark passages to the surface
unfurled their wings. Dozens took flight above the valley wherein
lay T’Lea’s last bastion on this world.

Vile evilness oozed from everywhere in
answer to the Heart’s call. If not for his strength of will and
faith in his god, Leathers would have succumbed to the hopelessness
and sorrow inundating him.

…beat…

Your cause is
hopeless

…beat…

All is lost

…beat…

Your faith is
false

…beat…

Die!

A thought from Leathers launched
Gyomar into action.

Those in flight above the valley burst
into light. Catching the sunlight, amplifying it, adding to it
their essence, they sent it in a flash of blinding righteousness to
the solitary Gyomar deep within the valley positioned before the
temple’s entrance. It caught the power and sent it to the next
stationed deeper within the temple.

From one Gyomar to the next, the power
of the sun traveled nearly instantaneously through passageways that
had never before known more than the brightness of a candle or
torch. The walls fairly screamed in protest as righteous light
sterilized a millennium of evil.

Upon reaching the cavern, it slammed
into the deeper darkness concealing the lower reaches; ripping it
asunder.

As fell power surged from the Heart,
the light struck Leathers. It blasted outward from him in righteous
fury, shattering the Heart’s attack and slamming into the Heart
itself. In that moment, the world seemed to pause.

Then a fissure opened through the
Heart’s center and a wail of supreme hatred and misery boomed
forth.

Leathers funneled every bit of power
into the fissure. Evil fought to seal the rift, but without T’Lea’s
priests and worshipers, the Heart no longer had a wellspring of
power upon which to draw. With a final surge, Leathers cracked the
Heart asunder.

Dark power blasted forth. Leathers and
the swordsmen were knocked off their feet and crashed into the
steps. Unbelievable vileness washed over them, like a river of
filth, then it was over.

The light of a Gyomar at the top of
the steps filtered its way down. Leathers glanced up at it and
sighed.

“Are you all right,
milord?”

Offering Leathers a hand, a swordsman
helped him to his feet. His comrade stood next to them with sword
in hand.

“You can put that away,” Leathers
said. “The only evil that remains is but a faint echo.”

They were in a small room with an
altar as black as night as its centerpiece. It and the floor
surrounding the altar were awash with blood. Off to the left lay
dozens of recently sacrificed people; men, women, and
children.

Before the altar lay what remained of
the high priest; naught but ashes and within that pile of ash, lay
the shattered remains of the Heart. Bodies of T’Lea’s last priests
flanked him to either side.

One swordsman stepped toward the
shattered Heart.

“Here.”

Turning, the swordsman took the golden
pouch Leathers held out.

“Place it in this,” Leathers said.
“And do not touch it with your hands.”

Nodding, the swordsman replied, “Yes,
milord.” Kneeling, he used the tip of his knife to slide the
Heart’s remains into the pouch.

The other swordsman stood off to the
right at the top of a descending staircase. He gestured to the dark
depths. “Milord, shall I investigate?”

“Yes,” Leathers replied. Calling forth
the power of Gyomias, he caused a glowing nimbus to surround the
swordsman to illuminate the way. “But touch nothing.”

As the swordsman disappeared down the
steps, Leather crossed to the stack of bodies. He could almost feel
the terror and pain still radiating outward from T’Lea’s victims.
Raising his hands, he prayed as he moved them to and fro above the
deceased, allowing the soothing radiance of his god to settle their
spirits.

“Find your peace,” he said. “May
Gyomias aid you in reaching the loved ones that have gone
before.”

The radiance diminished and he lowered
his hands. The feeling of terror was gone; replaced with one of
relief. If for no other reason, he was glad this world would
forevermore be rid of the evil that T’Lea and his priests inflicted
upon the innocent. They had been a cancerous infection he was proud
to say it had been his destiny to eradicate.

“Milord!”

Turning to the steps the swordsman had
descended, Leathers moved to the opening. “What did you
find?”

“We have survivors.”

“You know our missive.”

There was a pause before the swordsman
said, “Milord, one is a priest of Asran; another is a child, a
girl.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Leaving the swordsman to finish
collecting the remnants of the Heart of Darkness, Leathers
descended the stairs to a narrow rough-hewn passage. The radiant
glow from the swordsman emanated from a room twenty paces beyond
the base of the steps.

Therein Leathers found the swordsman
standing at the far end of a slightly wider passage in front of a
line of cells that extended some hundred feet or so. The doors to
all but one stood open. It was before that closed door that the
swordsman beckoned Leathers to his side.

A man of advanced years and wearing a
robe naming him a priest of Asran stood just within. Clutching his
side with a fearful look was a young girl who couldn’t have had
more than seven summers behind her. He bobbed his head as Leathers
approached.

“Milord,” the old man said, “your man
here explained what you came here to do; my heart sings to hear
that T’Lea is no more.” His expression darkened as his gaze flicked
from Leathers to swordsman, then back. “And… and what else you are
commanded to do.”

He wrapped an arm around the girl
tightly as tears came to his eyes. “But, milord, my daughter
remains untouched by the evil of this place.”

At that, Leathers arched an
eyebrow. “
Your
daughter?”

“Yes. Asran has blessed me after many
years of devoted service with a child. I beg of you, do not allow
his gift to be wasted.”

Leathers gazed to the child
and pity welled within. Yet, his orders had been most
explicit.
Allow none found within the
temple to live.
Then he noticed a body
lying at the rear of the cell; a woman with dark hair. The dress
she wore had seen better days. Her left arm lay bare and the three
dots forming the points of a triangle with lines running between
them yet not touching were clearly visible where it had been
tattooed onto her skin. His eyes narrowed.

“Her mother by chance?” he asked,
gesturing to the body.

The priest of Asran nodded.
“Yes.”

“How is it that a priest of Asran
fathers a child with one of Dmon’Li’s?”

“After the war, she left the
priesthood and in my travels, I found her. She forsook her false
god and from that day forward did naught but good. She was a good
wife and mother.”

He could see the conflicting emotions
within Leathers. Hoping to sway him into saving his daughter, he
said, “Please, milord. I beg you to take her with you. Spare my
daughter for she is yet an innocent soul.”

Caught up in a moment of thought, the
last words spoken by the priest snapped him back to the here and
now. He gazed at the girl intently. Then reached out to lay his
hand upon her head.

She shied back out of
reach.

“It’s okay,” her father said. Urging
her forward, he coaxed her to within reaching distance of
Leathers.

Terror was etched clearly upon her
face.

Leathers laid his hand upon her head
and it began to glow with the power of Gyomias.

She shrieked.

He grabbed her hair in a grip she
could not break. Then sent his senses into her.

Thrashing and screaming, she tried to
break free.

“What are you doing?” her father
demanded.

He slammed his fist into Leathers’
forearm and dislodged the offending hand from his daughter’s
head.

The glow vanished and Leathers took a
step back.

Next to him, the swordsman stood with
sword drawn. He glanced uncertainly at him. “Milord?”

Leathers didn’t answer. He stared in
disbelief at the girl.

“Milord?” the swordsman asked again.
Just then his partner arrived, golden pouch in hand.

Confusion and uncertainty vanished as
resolve took its place. Leathers turned his gaze to Asran’s
disciple. “Kill the priest. Bring the girl.”

Fear passed momentarily across the
father’s face, then he nodded.

The girl shrieked as the cell door
opened. Her father pushed her toward the swordsmen and one grabbed
her. He then knelt, prayers to his god issued forth and were
quickly silenced when the blade fell.

Leathers felt true remorse at the
death of a man who had only done good throughout his life. But he
dared not allow him to live; so were his orders.

Screaming, “Father!” the girl
struggled to free herself from the swordsman and reach his side,
but the swordsman’s grip was too strong. He picked her up and threw
her over his shoulder and then followed behind Leathers as they
headed back up the steps.

Her crying filled the passageways
where so much evil and horror had once lived. The few remaining
Gyomar accompanied them until they departed the temple.

Shadows filled the valley; the sun was
very near the horizon. Leathers gauged they had less than an hour
before sunset.

Only eight of the multitude of Gyomar
remained; the rest had given their essence in destroying the Heart
of Darkness. To them, Leathers said, “Take us to the rim. We have
one final task before the setting of the sun.”

Gyomar took hold of the mortals and
launched into the air.

From where she was securely held in
the arms of a swordsman, the girl screamed again. Though he offered
her words of comfort, her screams did not subside in the slightest
until they were safely deposited upon the western lip of the
valley.

The flight had taken time, time
Leathers could ill afford to waste. The sun had reached the horizon
and there wasn’t much left before he would lose its cleansing
rays.

Pointing to the girl, he said to the
swordsmen, “Hold her.”

“Milord?” one questioned.

“Take her by the arms and hold her
secure.”

Not understanding, but obeying their
master, the two swordsmen took the girl by the arms and held her
fast.

The final rays of the sun bathed the
scene and shone full upon her. The clouds above were breathtakingly
beautiful; and Leathers felt a profound sadness for what he was
about to do. But he understood the need and dared not shirk his
responsibility.

He came around behind the girl so he
would in no way cast shadows upon her. Placing a hand upon her
head, he called upon the power of Gyomias.

She screamed and thrashed all the
harder.

“Forgive me, Gyomias for what I am
about to do.”

Tears filled his eyes as he drew his
knife. Her father had forced her to accompany them thinking they
would keep her safe. But such could never be. Sending a powerful
burst of holy power into her, he tried to calm her. It had the
reverse effect. Screaming turned to shrill gibberish; thrashing
transformed into seizure-like spasms.

He plunged his knife into the breast
of the girl, just below the heart. Then with a mighty upward draw,
felt ribs part.

Her screams diminished and thrashing
quieted as blood gushed from the wound.

Gyomar circled just overheard. They
gathered the light of the setting sun unto themselves, growing
every brighter with every passing second.

Leathers gripped the severed ends of
her chest and pulled it apart in a sickening, snapping of
bones.