“Remain steadfast, Captain,” ordered Seiko. “We will weather this storm.”
The black-cloak leader spoke with an air of confidence, but he was worried. The shipbuilders had underestimated the weight of Alutar, and the Resurgence rode perilously low in the water, even in calm seas. In a torrent such as this massive winter storm it truly took magic to keep the ship afloat. The question on Seiko’s mind was whether one-hundred black-cloaks was enough magic to see the journey through to its final destination.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Seiko shouted to the captain.
“None,” spat the captain. “We haven’t seen the sky in days, but I can tell you this. When this storm ends, we will not be anywhere that we want to be.”
Seiko glared at the captain. “When this storm ends, Captain, we will be alive. That is all that matters for now.”
* * * *
The three Knights of Alcea rode into the slums of Farmin and dismounted near the building housing the impromptu infirmary. They avoided the front of building where many ornate carriages blocked the narrow street and walked their mounts around to the rear of the building. They opened the door and entered a large room with numerous beds scattered about. Most of the beds were empty and Garth Shado raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“The friends of Fakir have returned,” greeted Zynor, his eyes twinkling in a friendly manner. “Forgive me if I don’t remember your names. Fakir is in his office.”
“Names are not important,” smiled Garth. “Where are all your patients?”
“They stand out front for potions,” frowned Zynor as he scratched his bald dome. The long, thin wisps of white hair fringing his dome swayed as Zynor’s mouth opened as if he had more to say.
“I meant the indigent patients,” Garth replied. “Are the slums free of disease?”
“Pretty much,” interjected Atule. “Now we bilk the rich with tonics and elixirs.”
“And you would rather not?” asked Natia.
Atule sighed. “The rich are worthy of healing as well as the poor, but I worry about Kalmar. I fear that the lure of gold might once again grab his notice.”
“You worry too much,” stated Eulena as the elven mage passed into the room through a curtained passageway.
“Kalmar is not afflicted by greed,” declared Zynor, “and he is not ever likely to be again, at least not for his personal use. He is building a treasury to help the poor. Worry not for him.”
“Most of the gold is going towards food,” offered Valera as she carried a large box of breads past the Knights of Alcea. “These people were emaciated when we arrived. They still require a healthy supply of food to restore their bodies.”
Tedi and Natia both moved to take the large box from Valera’s hands.
“I need to speak to Fakir,” Garth said to Tedi and Natia. “Why don’t you two see if you can offer any help while we are here?”
Garth passed through the curtain to the showroom where Kalmar sold his goods. There was a line of well-dressed people waiting to speak to the healer, and Kalmar did not even notice the Knight of Alcea behind him. Without a word, Garth turned and entered the office where Fakir Aziz sat staring blankly at a wall. Without looking to see who had just entered, the Mage waved his visitor to a chair before the desk. He shook his head as if to clear it and then locked eyes with Garth as the Knight of Alcea sat down.
“You are becoming a regular visitor,” smiled Fakir Aziz. “Have you come for more local folklore?”
“Not this time,” smiled Garth. “Fakir Aziz has already given me what I needed.”
“And I have not?” frowned the Mage.
“You have given me much more than I ever wanted,” Garth replied cryptically. “Still, I need your help. There is a water witch named Haditha. If she still lives, I need to communicate with her.”
“If she still lives?”
“Haditha and Captain Gomery went on a mission to the Needle some time ago. They never returned.”
“Yet you still hold out hope for their safety?”
“Haditha is afraid of Captain Gomery becoming too involved with what is going on. It is plausible that they survived the mission and are hiding in order to avoid the coming conflict. She fears for his safety.”
The Mage nodded knowingly. “Her fear is not without reason. These are dangerous times that we live in.”
“Aren’t all times dangerous?” Garth sighed with weariness. “There is always some conflict that threatens us all. There are times that I curse you for the elixir you gave me, but…”
“But you could no more hide on your island paradise and ignore the ills of the world than Jenneva could. I understand. What is the message you wish the water witch to receive?”
“Their help is needed,” answered Garth. “They are to return to the Isle of Despair as soon as possible.”
“That is it?” asked the Mage. “Will they understand? Or will you be there to explain it to them?”
“I am on my way to Tagaret for a final meeting before the war, but there are others on the island who can explain the situation to them. Will you do it?”
Fakir Aziz smiled. “You did not ask if I could do it.”
“No, I didn’t,” Garth smiled broadly. “I have learned not to underestimate you.”
“What you mean is that I am your last chance to contact them,” laughed the Mage. “Very well, I will try to contact Haditha, but there are no guarantees.”
“I understand.” Garth nodded in acceptance. “I should also warn you that you and your people are in a precarious place. War is coming soon, and the cities of the Federation will not be safe places for your group. As there appear to be few of the poor left unhealed in Farmin, perhaps you should be thinking of moving on.”
“Unless Farmin is where we need to be,” the Mage responded.
“Unless Farmin is where you need to be.” Garth rose and bowed his head respectfully. Without another word, the Knight of Alcea left the room.
Fakir Aziz continued to sit, staring blankly at the wall. After some time, he rose to his feet and walked out of the office. He passed through the curtain to the back room and left the building through the rear door. He paused thoughtfully in the alley and gazed skyward. The day was ending as the last rays of sunshine fled from the sky. The Mage walked through the alleys of the slums and then through the wider streets of the city, slowly making his way towards one of the long ramps that led from the city down to the waterfront far below the bluffs. When he finally reached the shoreline, the area was quiet. The fishermen had long ago retired to their homes, and the cargo ships that were planning to leave the city had already set sail.
The Mage slipped off his boots and waded into the water. He squatted and submerged his hands as the gentle waves lapped over his feet. Closing his eyes, he sent a message forth into the Sea of Tears. It was not a message of words, but rather one of feelings. The message carried a sense of anxiety and urgency, but the communication would not affect any but the higher life forms of the sea. With the message sent, the Mage remained unmoving, feeling the essence of the underwater world. He smiled contently as all within the Sea of Tears felt right. The smile soon faded as he felt far beyond the Needle. His eyes quickly opened, and he stared into the darkness as if he could actually see what was transpiring half a world away. The Mage’s brow creased with concern as he rose and returned to the shore. He dried his hands and feet on his hem and donned his boots.
By the time he returned to the infirmary in the slums of Farmin, the lines of wealthy patrons had disappeared, and the mages were getting ready for the evening meal and then bed. Fakir Aziz sat at the table with the six other mages. Crystil filled a bowl with stew and placed it in front of Fakir Aziz. The Mage looked up at the old hag and smiled. He ate in silence as the other mages discussed the events of the day. When everyone was done with their meal, he stood to get their attention. He then looked at each of the others before speaking.