In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (12 page)

“Feeling a fever building, he knew it was only a matter of time before he would die.  He did not want the Queen to destroy the kingdom, so he took out his bow and fired one arrow straight for his beloved.  With no armor, no scales, not even a piece of linen covering her, the arrow tore through her breast and pierced her heart, for the King was an excellent shot.  She died slowly as blood poured from her wound, and the serpent head left her, revealing to all that the King had just killed his Queen.

“Stumbling forward, Hem-see fell to his knees beside his Queen, holding her head while the fever took him.  ‘I was always faithful to you, my Queen.  We shall depart this world, together.’  Kenoshee cried as her young son, ten years old, came to his parents.  The prince watched both his parents die on that field that day.

“Years later, when the Prince was crowned King, he commissioned this mural.  He wanted the entire kingdom to remember what happened that day, and he banned the study and practice of the dark Druidic Arts from that time forward.  The inscription above the mural reads: ‘We live in a Dark World, and we do not need to make it any Darker.’  Men, Elves, Dwarves and countless other races have been repeating that refrain as word of that fateful encounter spread throughout Tenebrae.  These are my ancestors.”  She smiled sadly and sipped her water.

Trevor was riveted by the story; he had not heard it before in his studies or travels.  Finishing his meal, he looked at the Elven princess.  “Lady Elyn, thank you for sharing a piece of your history with me.  You’re right, that is a most tragic tale.  That’s a lot to take in, after our hike here.  Not meaning to impose or be rude, but I would kindly take you up on your offer of rest now.  This wine and your rich food have tired me greatly, and a bed somewhere to rest my body would do me much good.  I’ll never be able to repay you for this generosity, m’Lady.”

Indeed, it
almost makes me feel bad about taking your necklace.  Almost.

~Strongiron~

“Now you will see that steel is stronger than iron, my friend.”  Axel whispered menacingly into Strongiron’s ear.  “Iron is a brittle thing.”  He laughed at his simple play on words.

Strongiron was unamused.  “It seems a pity that three good men should go to waste for what amounts to little more than a title.  If I could be knighted without the mark of a True Warrior, I would be sorely tempted to bypass this barbarism.  Alas, I cannot.  But I take no pleasure in fighting you three.  Had it been my call, I would have fought the Chimera.”

“Because you are afraid of us.”  Arkin, the ugliest Steele brother, sneered.  He was missing several teeth and wore a mask over the left half of his face.  It was disfigured from birth, and his frequent fights did nothing to improve his appearance.  Axel and Abel weren’t exactly handsome men, with large noses, thin lips, facial tattoos, and greasy hair the color of straw.  But Arkin was grotesque.  It was no surprise that he was also the cruelest of the three.

At this, even Strongiron smiled.  “If that helps you prepare for this contest—”

“And now it is time for our second battle.”  Lord Kensington interrupted as the central pit had been quickly cleared.  “Fighting for his Mark as a True Warrior, I give you Strongiron, son of Peace-arm, Knight of the Order of Thunder, of the royal House of Tuitio.”

At this, the crowd erupted.  Strongiron looked around the pit.  He saw the dead Chimera off to one side; he also saw Xaro in a box seated next to Lord Kensington with a determined look on his face.  Everywhere he turned, people were standing and cheering his name.  Except Tar-tan; he saw him rubbing his arm, seated calmly next to the dead Chimera in a large chair that had been brought out hastily for him.  He wanted a field’s-eye view, apparently.  While the fellow trainees cheered, the massive half-ogre looked at Strongiron with…contempt? 
I would think he’d have a smile on his face, having just won his Mark.

His thoughts were interrupted again by Lord Kensington.  “Battling Strongiron, we have three fighters that hardly need an introduction.  I give you the Steele brothers:  Axel, Abel, and Arkin!”

There was a smattering of cheers, but they were drowned by a loud chorus of boos.  The Steele brothers were ruthless fighters, competitive gamblers with a cheating hearts, and bullies by demeanor, likely destined to a life of mercenary work.  Few men in the pits hadn’t run afoul with them over dice or cards.  But they were also highly skilled.  All three were six feet tall and built lean but well-muscled, with stamina beyond compare.  Nobody could run or fight longer than the Steele brothers. “And now, let this battle to the death, begin!”  Lord Kensington shouted.  The battle horn was blown once again.

Strongiron stood on one side of the arena; the Steele brothers were positioned at the other three points of the compass around the large, circular pit.  Axel wielded a long sword and shield.  Abel carried a trident, and a net.  Arkin had a ten-foot staff with a spear tip on one end and a double-bladed battle-axe on the other end.

Strongiron was outfitted in good chain-mail, gauntlets and greaves, and a short helm.  For this battle, knowing he would face three foes at once, he selected a long sword and a shield.  He preferred a two-handed sword, and was strong enough to wield it with one hand and still carry a shield…but not for long.  He expected this to be a long fight.

The Steele brothers had a very methodical way of fighting together as a trio; they had been doing it since their youth.  Arkin and Abel would move to the flanks of their enemy
, always facing one another, with their foe between them.  Axel would fight from the front.  Sliding slightly to the rear of their opponent, the other two brothers used their long weapons to drive their opponent forward—directly into Axel.  Even the strongest foe would eventually tire and get careless with their defenses.  Staying out of range of most attacks, they could harass and wound an adversary’s legs while Axel, who was gifted with a blade, fought a straightforward battle of sword on shield.  They had never lost as a fighting unit against a single or even two foes.  As long as they had an advantage in numbers, they always had prevailed using this tactic.

Strongiron, of course, knew this.  His strategy was simple:  he must even the odds before they wore him down.  It was a bit of a surprise, and a crowd-pleasing delight, when he took off at full speed toward the nearest Steele brother the moment the horn sounded.

Arkin hadn’t expected a charge.  He thrust his spear forward to try and keep Strongiron at distance, but he went a little too far, putting his weight a bit forward.

Expecting the move, Strongiron nimbly evaded the spear and slashed at the exposed hands gripping the long shaft.  Arkin lost three fingers on his left hand and screamed, dropping the heavy spear to reflexively protect his maimed, bloody hand.  Using his solid bronze shield as a bludgeon, Strongiron rammed it into the side of Arkin’s head—where his
peripheral vision was obscured by his half-mask.  He fell over with a thud, unconscious.

Strongiron whirled to face Abel, who was running to set up his position as soon as he saw the other warrior charge. More cautious now that Arkin was down, the two remaining Steele brothers slowed down to try and set up across from one another where they could still force him to work twice as hard.  But Strongiron would have none of it.  He did not hesitate.  While they were still closing on him, he rushed to face Abel and his trident.

Abel, however, was not going to be caught so easily.  He flung his net to force Strongiron to keep his distance.  Again and again Strongiron waited for him to overextend himself, but he didn’t, and soon Strongiron was deflecting sword strikes from Axel on his other side.

And so the battle circulated, with Strongiron parrying blows from Axel and blunting blows from Abel.  The crowd roared, and they fought on.  One minute became five, five became ten, ten became twenty.  Thirty minutes later, and still there had been no decisive blows amongst the three.  Forty minutes—an eternity for a sword fight.  The tension in the crowd was palpable as even the Steele brothers began to display heavy arms and legs.

It was at this point that Axel threw his net, trying to ensnare Strongiron, figuring he would be too tired to evade it.

Except he wasn’t.  Strongiron was waiting patiently for the net to finally be thrown vs. flung like a whip.  He knew it was
impossible to throw the weighted net high enough and far enough without putting both hands on it.  This was what he was waiting for.

Ducking and exploding from a crouch, he barreled into Abel before he could bring the trident back around.  The net sailed over his head and caught Axel’s sword, tangling him up.  Meanwhile Abel was knocked to the
ground by Strongiron’s lunge.  Again, using his shield, he bludgeoned him twice, knocking him out cold.

He rolled off him and popped back up, already in a fighting stance, ready for Axel.  When he saw the third Steele brother still fighting to free his sword, Strongiron pounced.  He swung his sword, but he turned it so that he struck Axel with the flat of it on the temple.  He lost the top of his ear with the blow, and was stunned by the force of the strike.  Strongiron moved in and for the third time knocked a Steele brother unconscious with a mighty slap from his heavy shield.

Looking up at Lord Kensington, Strongiron bowed his head.  “The contest is over.  Let these men continue their training.  The realm needs True Warriors, and I see no need to end their lives to prove my worth to you.  Brand or no brand, I will leave here a True Warrior.”

The crowd roared. 
They may not love the Steele brothers, but they all realize that it could have been one of them chosen to fight me to the death.
  Strongiron waved to them all.  Turning back to Lord Kensington, he saw him smile as Xaro leaned across and said something to him. 
He is not one that I would ever trust.

Lord Kensington stood. “Indeed you will, Strongiron.  You truly have the bearing of your father, who trained here and was branded by my father.  Peace-arm would be proud of your decision, and I have no doubt that you shall soon be knighted yourself.  You do House Tuitio proud.  Prepare to receive the Mark of a True Warrior, Strongiron.”

Chapter 4:  Many Returns

~Trevor~

“All thievery requires a pound of audacity and a pinch of luck—and sometimes the other way around!” the Mist had told Trevor once.  “You seem to have been blessed with some of both.”

Staring at the handmaidens of the Lady Elyn, he couldn’t help but think that he certainly was lucky.  And he was about to be audacious.

They were all short and heavily cowled.  Try as he might, he couldn’t see their faces within the folds of their soft, white robes, plush and thick.

And so Trevor found himself dressed like one of the Elven princess’s handmaidens, having quietly overpowered one earlier.  He put her to sleep with a vial of sleep draught right before the Lady was set to take a mid-morning bath.  He was one of three handmaidens, who each took turns scrubbing and rubbing the princess in the drawn and heated water.  The other two were situated near the foot of the tub. 
Apparently I scrub her head and back.  How convenient.

Then he looked over and saw, folded neatly to the side of the bath, her dress for the day, with the Purple Sun sitting atop the clothes, ready to be looped over her neck when she was finished. 
Even more convenient.

“Gwen, this water is too hot.  Would you add some cool water to temper it a bit?”  Lady Elyn asked, looking at Trevor’s bowed head.  Nodding silently, he went to fetch more water. 
Apparently my name is Gwen…

As he filled the vase in the adjoining room, he heard chattering amongst the three women, including the naked princess. 
Focus. 
He slipped through the door to the bath chamber and locked it.

As delicately as he could, he poured the water in.  He knew he should probably stick his hand in to test it.  He did so quickly, directly into some foam so as not to show any part of himself unnecessarily. 
This will have to be done quickly.

“Is it cool enough for me?” she asked sweetly.

Trevor nodded.  Lady Elyn put one leg into the bath, but didn’t take her eyes off Sarah.

“Is something wrong with your voice, Gwen?”  asked one of the handmaidens.

Trevor nodded, again.

“But it was fine this morning over breakfast?  Are you unwell?”  asked the other one.

Lady Elyn narrowed her eyes and tried to focus at the folds of her handmaiden’s cowl.  She withdrew her leg from the bath. 
Now or never!

“Gwen?”

Trevor pulled a fist-sized stone from his robe and thumped the naked princess on the temple.  Caught off guard, she didn’t even cry out as she slumped to the floor out cold.

Trevor figured that the two handmaidens would first fret over the princess.  He was right.  Both of them raced forward when they saw the lump at her temple.  It was instinct.  One started to scream, but Trevor quickly came up behind her and put his hand over her mouth while looking at the other one.  He had a handkerchief that he forced into the handmaiden’s mouth.

Speaking to the handmaiden still kneeling by the unconscious princess, he said “I mean you no harm, but I will kill your friend in my arms here if you scream.  I could have killed your princess, but did not.  Keep quiet, and you will live.”

“You mean to defile the Lady Elyn.  I will scream for the guards before I allow that,” said the one handmaiden who was still free, who had pulled back her cowl now to fully show her face.  Dark
complexioned like all Elves, with a somewhat large, broad nose that seemed to be the hallmark of most of her kind, excluding the Princess.

“I have no interest in that.”  He glanced quickly at the perfect body of the beautiful Elven princess lying naked on her back on the cold stone. 
‘No interest’ isn’t quite the right phrase, but focus! 
The sleep draught he had soaked into the handkerchief finally took hold of the handmaiden in his arms, and he gently laid her on the floor, his eyes never leaving the third.  He flicked his wrist and a concealed knife was in his hand while he tucked his handkerchief away.

“If you think to scream for the guards, you will be dead before they enter.  Your friend is only asleep, and Lady Elyn will awake with a headache, no worse.”  He brandished his knife and advanced quickly on her.

“What do you mean to do?”

Distracting her with slow but menacing movements of the knife in one hand, he clubbed her with the same stone on the temple using his other hand.  Again, his aim was perfect and she crumpled with hardly a sound.  Three women, all unconscious, not a sound made, and no blood splattered.

“I mean to take this.”  Trevor picked up the amulet, put it in his pocket, grabbed the bucket, and walked into the other room.  He drew his cowl close to his face once again, checking the robe.  Unlocking the door silently, he let himself out, head bowed, and walked past two Elven guards standing outside the door, pointing at an ornate water vase.

“More hot water, eh?  Princess sure likes her steam baths.”  The guards chuckled to one another as Trevor shut the door behind him, heading toward the fire pits where the Elves heated water, walking with the most girlish gait he could muster.

~Magi~

Magi and Kyle crept out of their room early the next morning, well before dawn, and headed back down into the
empty Common room.  They turned up the street and headed back toward
The Lazy Pour
.  A covered cart with a Coat of Arms painted on the side was next to the entrance.  Kyle risked peeking inside, and as he feared, saw the body of their warrior friend, Sindar, lying there dead, beginning to stink.  His giant sword was off to one side.  There did not appear to be any gaping wounds on his body anywhere.

“Should I grab his sword?”  Kyle whispered.

“What for?  It would take both of us to carry it.  We have our own weapons.”

“What about his family?  Wouldn’t they want
it?”

“Kyle, forget
it.  We don’t know if Sindar has family.  Heck, Sindar may not know whether he had family.  Does he have our money on him?”  Magi whispered more loudly than he intended.

Kyle poked his head out to grab some quick breaths of decent air and plunged himself back into the covered cart, patting
the cold body down.  “No gold,” he murmured as he leapt back onto the ground.

They knew the plan.  Magi took a pinch of sand and stepped in front of the entrance, not even waiting to see if anyone was up yet in the common room.  He cast the strongest sleep spell he could.  As the magic welled up inside him, he focused his senses on the alehouse.  The smell of intimacy mixed with spilled ale was strong.  There were stables near the back, and several horses
inside swatted flies with their tails.  Someone upstairs was awake, whispering.  Back in the kitchen, the smell of freshly slaughtered meat was coming through now.  Then silence as the spell descended on the inn.  There were a couple awkward sounding
thumps
, as if something large had fallen over.

“Come on
, hurry!”  Magi didn’t bother to whisper.  They quickly climbed the steps on the left side of the bar.  In the second floor hallway, two of Lord Corovant’s guards lay asleep in on the floor outside the door to their old room.  They were two of the same guards Manny the fish peddler had brought to the inn several nights earlier.

“Your turn, Kyle.  My spell had a chance to reach anyone in the inn who wasn’t behind a door.  If there are people inside, they may be asleep, but it won’t be my doing
, and they’ll wake up when we enter.  Are you ready?”  Magi asked. 
You can do this, I know you can.

“Yes.  Ready.”  Kyle looked his best friend square in the eyes.  “Open
it.”

Magi knew the door squeaked
, so he didn’t bother to open it slowly.  He grabbed the ring handle and yanked it open…but it was bolted from the inside.  All he got was a bunch of wood creaking and heard some stirring on the other side of the door. 
Duh.  Of course it would be bolted.

“Locked!” Kyle
whispered.

Magi was already thinking of his next spell.  “Back up.  I’m going to force hammer
it.  Be ready to do your part while I recover.”

He again lost himself in the magic and heard two people stirring on the other side of the door.  He focused all his energy on the door and began to mentally swing his air hammer.  The door
exploded inward, splintering into pieces.  Kyle quickly stepped into the gap and put the room to sleep.

“Geez, Magi.  What was that?  You nearly blew the room apart!”  Kyle looked at his friend incredulously.

Magi was shocked.  That door was
thick. 
“Good thing it wasn’t stone,” he said feebly.  Kyle was already searching the room.  There, in the corner of the room stood a table with a familiar belt with three bulging pouches attached.  One for gold, one for silver, one for copper.  Kyle grabbed the belt Sindar had carried all the way from Brigg and looked quickly around the room.  Manny, the fish merchant who had tried to frame them for stealing earlier in the week, was lying next to a naked woman of the night.  Both were snoring soundly.  He saw two silver pieces lying on a separate table next to the bed.  Magi walked over and grabbed them, tossing them to Kyle, who chuckled.  Magi just turned away in disgust.  “Let’s get out of here.”

They quickly walked back down the stairs, tying their money pouches tightly so as to avoid any j
ingling.  They had two choices, and it seemed pretty obvious which they should take.

“Magi
,” Kyle said.  “I know you’re going to object, but we ought to take a look at the horses out back.  Before we go and buy any, it would be easier if we could just take a couple and be off before the city awakes.  Fewer questions asked.”

Magi sighed.  His friend was right.  “Very well.  Let’s look at them and make sure they’re fit.”  Sure enough, the stables had
seven or eight strong-looking horses tied up.  They picked a nondescript grey and a chestnut brown.  Neither was an expert on horses, but they both were occasional riders.  When their teacher Marik had sent them off on this quest, he considered sending them on mounts, but thought it might frustrate the seasoned veterans to move so slowly on horseback.

Now
, even a modest trot would be faster than walking
.  Though novices, Kyle and he managed to saddle both of them in the predawn air.  They began trotting off, a bit awkwardly, heading down back streets to the city entrance and the mammoth statues that welcomed outsiders to Gaust.

But not before Magi counted
out two dozen gold pieces and left an equal pile in each stable.

~Xaro~

“It itches a bit, doesn’t it?” said Xaro.  Instead of scratching the puffy oval with three lines, he applied a bit of jelly that the
pit fighters often used to treat burns and cuts.  He knew it to be an extract of the
sanitor
tree, but that was because he had studied at the fabled tower of Dariez, where ancient clerics—True Clerics—once honed their craft.  Most of the warriors in the pits would struggle to spell
sanitor
, let alone recognize it or harvest its sap.  The True Warrior he addressed, however, was not one of those.

“Yes—a bit.  I’ll take a bit of that, if you please.”  Strongiron smiled politely at Xaro, before he rubbed a bit of the extract on his upper arm.  “I believe this comes from a tree.  Quite useful in a pinch,” he said, more as an afterthought than to Xaro in particular.

“It does indeed. 
Sanitor
trees.”  Xaro shifted.  “Strongiron, I asked Lord Kensington to have a private word with you before you departed.  I have a—proposition.”

Strongiron looked up, his face expressionless.  He fixed his royal blue eyes on Xaro.  “What’s on your mind?”

Xaro smiled briefly before standing up.  He didn’t answer immediately, but instead walked to the window in Lord Kensington’s sitting room, where he and Strongiron were meeting.  He feared the young warrior would leave soon to head back to Rookwood, the great capital of Elvidor and the stronghold of the East.  Sure enough, he was already packed, but had agreed to meet Xaro before departing.

Looking out the window, Xaro said, “You will find that I am a direct man.  I am interested in having you join me.”  He turned around and recaptured Strongiron’s dazzling blue eyes.  “None save myself are your equal here.”

Strongiron’s face was still inscrutable.  “Join you for what?  Didn’t you just earn your mark several days ago?  Surely you know that I am a captain in King Alomar’s army?  What are you suggesting?”  He narrowed his eyes, just slightly.

Xaro knew this would be a hard sell, given that he could not reveal everything to this man. 
Every man has a weakness—or a price.  What is yours? 
He remained standing.  “Good questions all.  Let me say this—I am not merely a True Warrior, Strongiron.  I will confide in you this.”  He let the spell that camouflaged his pure-white eyes fade, choking off the power that constantly fed this illusion.  His irises and pupils got smaller and smaller, until they were completely covered by the whites of his eyes.  The mark of a True Mage.