The Star of Morcyth: The Morcyth Saga Book Five (10 page)

“Will do,” he says. The kids finish eating
and begin to leave. One small girl, the one who had berry filling
smeared across her face earlier comes over and gives him a quick
hug.

He takes the sack of tarts out of his shirt
and hands them to her. “Here you go,” he says with a grin.

Taking the sack she flashes him a smile and
then runs to catch up with the others.

Sitting back, he feels good about not only
successfully finding out information James will want to know, but
also about making the lives of these kids a little better if only
for a brief time. He finishes his meal and then walks through the
streets back to the Silver Bells.

By the time he arrives, it’s now late
afternoon and the sun is beginning its descent to the horizon. At
the inn, he finds Illan sitting in the common room talking with
several of the locals. When he sees him approaching, Illan gets up
and takes his leave of the men as he meets Miko halfway.

“Was getting worried about you,” he tells
him.

“Sorry,” apologizes Miko. “I was finding out
about things.”

Nodding, Illan says, “Let’s go up to my room
where we can talk in private.”

As they move to the stairs leading up the
second floor, Miko asks, “Where is everyone?”

“James is still at the castle,” he explains.
“I’ve had no word about him since he left. Jiron and Fifer left a
short time ago, said something about meeting someone. They were
rather vague about the whole thing.”

Back in the room, Illan shuts the door and
Miko fills him in on what the kids had said. At mention of the Eye,
he gets a strange look on his face but makes no comment. When Miko
tells him about finding Lord Colerain and Lord Kindering at the
Merchant’s Guild, he gets another odd look.

“It just seems more than coincidence that
all these things are coinciding with James being summoned here,” he
concludes.

“I tend to agree,” states Illan.

“What’s the Eye?” Miko asks him after a
brief quiet.

Sitting back in the chair, Illan considers
the question a moment before answering. “The Eye, or rather an Eye
of the Emperor, is part of a secret organization within the Empire
that seeks out those who jeopardize or challenge the rule of the
Emperor.”

“But why would one be here?” asks Miko.
“James?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” he
says.

“Didn’t he say two hours after sunset?”
Fifer asks him.

“Yes,” replies Jiron as they make their way
out to where the fight’s going to be.

“Then why are we leaving so early?” he asks.
Pointing to the sun which is low to the horizon he continues, “It’s
going to be several hours before we have to be there.”

Giving Fifer an annoyed look, he says,
“First of all, I didn’t want to be there when James returns to the
inn. If he got wind of this he would probably try to get me to call
it off. This way, we don’t have that problem.”

“Secondly, I was hoping we might be able to
do a little digging and see if we can find out about who I might be
fighting.”

“To give you an edge?” suggests Fifer.

“Something like that,” agrees Jiron. “Back
at the pits, we always had scouts out to find out about newcomers
to the pits. Their strengths and weaknesses, that sort of thing.
It’s amazing how much of an edge one little piece of information
can give you.”

It isn’t hard to locate the inn behind which
Jiron agreed to fight tonight. As the barkeep had told them, behind
the inn is a sizeable area. Filled with refuse and beggars, its
center has been kept relatively clear for the fights that go on
here.

“Where should we start?” asks Fifer.

Shrugging, Jiron gestures to the beggars
hanging out in the area, “How about with them?”

The first beggar they approach shies away
from them as they come near, unwilling to meet their eyes much less
talk to them. Looking around, Jiron sees one eyeing them and makes
his way toward him. This beggar holds his ground as they
approach.

“You hang out here much?” asks Jiron as he
stops next to the man.

Nodding, he replies, “Yes.”

“I hear there are fights going on here from
time to time,” he says.

The beggar just stares at him, not
responding to what he just said. Producing two coppers, he holds
them out and the beggar snatches them away quickly. Looking around,
he says, “Occasionally. I hear there will be one tonight.”
Gesturing around at the many beggars he adds, “That’s why so many
of us are here.”

“Do you know anything about who’s fighting?”
he asks.

“Maybe,” he says. His hand snakes out of his
clothing with the palm up.

Fishing out two more coppers, he places them
in the beggar’s hand.

After his hand is once again within the
dirty rags he calls clothes, he says, “Bunch of foreigners have
staged fights here with locals the last week or so. They have a
champion whom they say no one’s been able to beat.”

“What is their champion like?” asks
Fifer.

“He was big, muscled and fought with two
swords,” he says. “The last two fights only lasted a few passes
before his opponent lay dead on the ground.”

Fifer glances to Jiron but he seems
unconcerned about what he’s hearing. Many tales were told of
opponents before they got into the pit with them, most of them were
over exaggerated. Those who took rumors to heart tended to be less
effective against them.

“I thought they fought with fists at times,”
Jiron says.

Shaking his head, the beggar says, “No,
never saw that. Not for awhile anyway.”

Jiron then produces another coin, this time
a silver and asks, “Where could a person place a bet on such a
fight?”

Hand moving so fast it almost blurs with
speed, he snatches the silver out of Jiron’s fingers. Indicating a
small alley off to the right, he says, “Go down there and knock on
the third door to your right. When someone asks who it is, tell
them ‘It’s no one’. That’s the password today. Inside you can make
your bet.”

“Thanks friend,” Jiron says as he heads for
the indicated alleyway.

“You’re not thinking of placing a bet are
you?” asks Fifer.

“Of course I am,” he says. “I’m not planning
on losing.”

They enter the alley and find the third
door. Pausing only a moment, Jiron knocks upon it.

After a moment, a voice from the other side
says, “Who’s there?”

“It’s no one,” Jiron says.

They hear a bar being removed and a lock
turning just before the door swings open. An armored man stands
there before them, a dimly lit hallway extending from the doorway
behind him.

“Put your weapons on the table there,” he
says, indicating a small table just within the hallway. He shuts
the door and secures it again with the bar.

Fifer looks to Jiron who nods his head and
they begin removing their weapons and placing them on the
table.

Once divested of their weapons, the guard
checks them to be sure they haven’t ‘forgotten’ any and then says,
“Follow me.”

Moving down the hallway, the guard passes
two doors before stopping in front of the third. Opening it, he
steps aside and allows them to move into the room.

The room is richly furnished, surprising to
find such a room here in this part of town. Oil lamps give the room
plenty of light and a large desk sits in the middle of the room. A
man is bent over the desk, looks like he’s going over the books. He
looks up as they enter and asks, “What do you gentlemen want?”

“We understand that you take bets on the
fights which occur in the courtyard outside,” states Jiron.

“Yes, we do,” he says leaning back in his
chair.

The guard which had let them into the
building takes position behind them, hand resting upon the pommel
of his sword in the event they were to do something rash.

“I would like to place a bet on the
outcome,” Jiron tells him. “I understand there’s a foreign champion
which is to meet a newcomer tonight.”

“That’s right,” he says.

“What are the odds on the newcomer?” he asks
as he moves closer to the desk.

“Ten to one,” the man replies.

Removing his pouch, Jiron moves closer to
the desk and upends it, spilling out its contents.

Seeing the amount of coins the pouch
contains, the man’s eyes widen slightly. “All of it?” he asks. “You
do realize that the champion hasn’t been beaten don’t you?”

Jiron shrugs.

Then the man’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Why?”

From behind them, a voice says, “It’s
because he is the challenger.”

Turning, they see Lonn entering the
room.

“You know him?” the man behind the desk
asks.

“You could say that,” he says. “They gave me
a beating last night.”

Laughing, the man behind the desk says, “I
see.” Taking Jiron’s pouch, he upends it on his desk and counts the
contents. One of the gems from the cavern under the Merchant’s Pass
is in among the silver and coppers. Picking it up, the man examines
it and asks, “Where did you get this?”

“I found it some time ago,” he replies.
“It’s my hedge against adversity.”

Nodding, the man says, “Do you want to
include this in with your wager?”

“Yes,” replies Jiron.

“Very well,” he says. “With the gem you have
seventeen golds and five silver. Is that the sum you wish to
wager?”

“The gem’s worth more than fifteen golds,”
he objects.

“Maybe so, but that’s all I’m appraising it
for here and now,” the man says.

“Very well,” agrees Jiron.

The man takes out a piece of paper and after
annotating the amount, signs it before sliding back across the desk
to Jiron. “If you win, this piece of paper is worth a hundred and
seventy five golds. If you fail to win, you lose,” he says.

Taking the paper, he says, “Deal.”

“Good luck tonight,” the man says.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” he
replies.

To the guard, the man behind the desk says,
“Show them out.”

“Come on,” the guard grunts as he leads them
back down the hallway. At the table, he pauses a moment while they
collect their weapons and then opens the door for them. Once
outside, the door shuts behind them and they hear the bar being
placed against the door.

“Still over an hour before the fight,” Fifer
says.

The sun has just cleared the horizon and the
shadows are deepening. “Let’s get a small bite to eat,” suggests
Jiron.

“Alright,” agrees Fifer.

They leave the courtyard where in just a
short while Jiron will be facing a champion said to have the habit
of leaving his opponents dead.

The room in which the Royal Court meets is
large. Upon a throne across the room from where he enters, James
sees a regally dressed man of middle years sitting upon an ornate
throne. A simple golden crown sits upon his head.
That must be
the King of Cardri.

In lesser chairs flanking him on either side
are six other individuals, three to a side. These must be the other
members of the Royal Court. Whether they’re here to advise or are
part of the ruling body he isn’t sure.

The officious man leads him forward to stand
before the King. The room is full of onlookers, all but a very few
are dressed in garments the cost of which would enable a poor man
to live a year. All eyes are upon him as he’s led forward.

“Your majesty,” the officious man announces
once he’s come to a stop. “May I present, the mage known as
James.”

James stands straight and gives the king a
deep bow.

“We appreciate you coming with such alacrity
to our summons,” the King says.

“I would not wish to keep your majesty
waiting,” he replies.

“Indeed.” The King stares at James in
silence for a moment, as if he’s taking his measure. Behind the
king, stands a man in robes. As the silence mounts, James suddenly
feels the familiar tingling sensation which heralds another doing
magic in the vicinity.

Eyes flicking around the room, they finally
settle upon the man standing behind the King. James figures him to
be some sort of court magician or wizard. In a world where magic is
practiced, it would make sense for a monarch to have one at his
side. James refuses to take the bait and keeps his magic still.

“What are you, sir?” the King finally
asks.

Startled at the question, James asks, “Your
majesty?”

“There have been many strange tales told of
a rogue mage traveling our kingdom,” he says. After pausing a
moment he then adds, “And abroad. Stirring up mischief and if the
tales are to be believed, killing at will.”

“I have killed no one who has not tried to
kill me first,” insists James. “I have never initiated any
hostilities against anyone.”

“So you do admit to the taking of lives?”
the king asks.

“Well, yes,” admits James. “But only in self
defense. I am a peaceful man, wishing only to be left alone.” The
wizard behind the king whispers something in his ear and James can
see the king nod in response to what was said.

“You have been summoned here to answer the
charges laid before us,” the King explains. He turns his head and
nods to the side where a guard stands before a closed door. Opening
the door, the guard steps inside briefly before returning with two
other people.

James gasps when he sees a person dressed in
the garb of the Empire walk through. The other man is similarly
dressed.

“This is Ambassador Arkhan of the Empire,”
the King says as the man comes forward. Ambassador Arkhan looks
with hatred at James as he approaches the members of the court. “He
has laid charges against you of the gravest sort,” continues the
King. “Ambassador?”

“Thank you your highness,” the ambassador
says as he gives the King a deep bow full of flourishes. Standing
aright again, he points to James and says, “This villain has killed
wantonly within the Empire. He has hurt and degraded one of our
most prominent nobles and has completely destroyed an entire
island, the act of which ended the lives of thousands of our
citizens. We ask that he be given to us to be taken back to the
Empire!”