The Mists of Sorrow_ Book Seven of the Morcyth Saga - Brian S. Pratt [38]
“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.”
“But they will realize you are not one of our men,” objects Ceadric.
Seeing Ceadric clearly getting irritated and Brother Willim balking, James gets to his feet. “If the rest of us are wearing breastplates and helms, and we put him in the center, then in the dark we might be able to get away with it.”
Ceadric nods his head. “That might work,” he says.
“Why sneak out at all?” Stig asks. “There isn’t anyone around here who could effectively stop us.”
“Two reasons,” James says as he turns to him. “One, if we are seen leaving and then moving into the Empire, war could erupt all over again and a lot of people are going to die.