“Hardly,” he assures them. “That would be the surest form of stupidity. No, this keep will be a sore spot between our two lands for some time to come I’m afraid.”
Shorty comes forward with a mug of ale and offers it to the councilman. “It’s the best we have,” he apologizes.
Taking the offered cup, the councilman gives him a nod and says, “Thank you.” He takes a sip while the others remain silent. Then he returns his gaze back to James. “You know, they believe you are still in the Empire.”
Surprised, James asks, “Why?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” he replies. “But rumors are surfacing of someone in the Empire causing massive destruction. Bridges, army encampments, even one report of an entire city collapsing, though I give that last one little credence.”
James glances at Jiron for a second and sees that he came to the same conclusion that he did. Those seeds of destruction he sowed in wagons earlier this summer are still active. At one point he tried to recall just how many he planted, but couldn’t quite remember exactly. The number had to have been over two dozen, possibly as high as forty. If they are still active, then they’re still gathering power. The longer it takes for them to go off, the more powerful the explosion.
“A whole city you say?” he asks.
“Supposedly,” he replies with a nod. The councilman notices the expression of anguish that comes over James’ face. Though he doesn’t comment, he realizes that James does know something about it.
“When are you planning on leaving?” he asks.
“As soon as d…” Stig begins before he’s cut off by Jiron.
“We haven’t decided yet,” James says quickly. He casts a quick glance to Jiron and gives him a brief nod. James has always been one who hated someone else knowing his business.
“Ah,” the councilman says as he comes to his feet. The rest of the room comes to their feet as well. “I’m sorry I must make my visit brief,” he says. “The meeting will begin shortly.”
James extends his hand for a goodbye shake which the councilman takes. “It was good to meet you,” says James.
“You too my boy,” he replies. To Ceadric the councilman says, “Tell Lord Black Hawk I would like to meet with him later this afternoon after the talks have ended for the day.”
“Yes, milord,” assures Ceadric.
“Very good.” Moving for the door, he pauses but a moment to give one of his aides time to open it for him then exits into the hallway.
When the door shuts behind him James turns to Ceadric. “He seems nice enough.”
“He is,” agrees Ceadric. “I have yet to meet anyone who can say an unkind word about him.”
“Surprised he’s able to survive on the Council,” states Potbelly. “I hear they are a bunch of cutthroats.”
Laughing, Ceadric nods, “They can be at times. Despite his amicable manner, he can be hard as nails when he must. Always kind, but hard.”
“I think I could like a man like that,” observes James.
“I must be off,” Ceadric tells him.
“Will everything be ready for this evening?” asks James just as Ceadric reaches the door.
Nodding, Ceadric opens the door and turns back toward him. “Everything’s set,” he assures him. “Just after dark.”
“Thank you,” James says.
Passing through the door, Cedric enters the hallway and closes it behind him.
The rest of the afternoon is spent getting what rest they can for when they leave. Miko spends the time not sleeping lying on his bed with the Book of Morcyth propped open on his stomach reading.
At one point Jiron comes over to him and asks, “I thought you still couldn’t read that well?”
Taking his eyes from the pages, he glances to Jiron and shrugs. “I can now,” he says.
“Is it interesting?” he asks indicating the book.
“Some parts are,” he explains. “Others not so much.”
Jiron indicates the foot of his bed and looks questioningly to Miko.
Nodding, Miko says, “Sure.” He closes the book and sets in on the bed next to him. Scooting into a sitting position, he props his back against the wall as Jiron sits on the bed.
“How is all this going?” asks Jiron.
“You mean being the High Priest and all?”
“Yeah,” he replies.
“For the most part, I don’t feel any different,” Miko admits. “All the priests I’ve known have all been kind of stuffy. You know what I mean?”
“Oh yes,” agrees Jiron. “In fact, back when Tersa and I were still living in the City, there was this Father Corwyn. He was a priest of Vyll.” Vyll is the god of luck, gambler and thieves. “He was very full of himself, and despite following the god of thieves he was a very upright fellow. As bad as it makes me feel now, I and a few of my buddies would make fun of him behind his back. He was fat and it bothers me now that we use to laugh at him for it. If I ever see him again I plan to make it up somehow.”
Nodding, Miko says, “There were a few like that back home too.” He falls quiet for a moment. “I don’t think I know how to be a priest, let alone a High Priest.” His gaze is one of almost panic when he finally brings his eyes to bear on Jiron. “I mean look at me! I am not refined, I know nothing about anything.”
Jiron reaches out and pats him on the leg. “Relax,” he says. “A god wants you to be his representative on this world. Doesn’t that make you feel good?”
“Of course it does,” admits Miko. “I simply fear that I will not live up to the trust Morcyth is putting in me.”
“I think you are worrying too much about nothing,” Jiron tells him. When he sees he’s not getting through to him he continues. “You have used the power of the Star to heal, to bring people back from the brink of death. You have battled shadows, wielded a sword in battle against a warrior priest, and prevailed! You’ve seen things that the majority of those living on this world have not. Now I ask you, don’t you think you are a little more than a street brat off the streets of Bearn?”
Miko looks at him thoughtfully for a time. Then he nods and gives him a grin. “Maybe you are right, my son,” he says.
“ My son? ” asks Jiron with a grin. “Okay, Father.” Together they break into laughter at the same time.
“Thanks Jiron,” Miko tells him when the laughter finally subsides.
“Anytime, Miko,” replies Jiron. Getting up off the bed, he leaves Miko to continue reading the Book of Morcyth.
An hour before nightfall, Ceadric brings them another meal, complete with tarts, and tells them their horses are ready and waiting for them. “There’s only one problem,” he says.
“Isn’t there always?” asks Scar.
“Ever since the shadow incident, the Empire’s Ambassador has had someone stationed near the gates to keep an eye on who goes in and out,” he explains.
“Do they know I’m here?” James asks.
Ceadric indicates the tarts that came along with the meal. “The cook said to tell Miko these are for him,” he says. “I don’t know who informed the cook that you were here, but if it has made it to him, it’s only a matter of time before word makes it to the Ambassador.”
“If it hasn’t already,” finishes James.
“How are we going to get out the gates?” asks Shorty.
“Hedry is scheduled to lead a patrol this evening,” he explains. “I figure if you were to leave with him then your leaving may go unnoticed.” He glances to where Brother Willim sits eating in his brown robe, the emblem of the Hand of Asran upon his breast. “We are going to have to do something about your robe.”
“I can easily take it off,” assures Brother Willim. “Maybe slip an ordinary cloak on instead?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of some armor,” counters Ceadric. “You are going to need to blend in with the others.”
“I’ll not wear armor,” he states. “Our order forbids it.”
