In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (16 page)

“And how do you know that?”  The Queen looked perplexed.

“Because he all but asked me to lead the attack.” 
A blunt answer for a blunt woman. 
“I refused, of course.  I’m a King’s Man.”  He hastily added, “A Queen’s Man, for that matter.”

If this news rattled the Queen, no one would know.  She didn’t so much as flinch.  “I see.  So I should think this Xaro is at least as good a judge of talent as my late husband.  Duly noted.  But I am curious Strongiron, about two things.  What was his reaction to your rebuff, and perhaps more pointedly—if you ar
e a ‘Queen’s Man’ as you say, why didn’t you kill him then and there if you judged him to be such an obvious threat?”

Strongiron stopped twirling his dirk with a final flourish and tucked it back into his belt.  Not in a flamboyant manner, but rather with the practiced skill of a man who knew his way around every form of war instrument that existed.  He sat and looked at his Queen through his dazzling blue eyes.  “His reaction was as I expected—he simply moved on to the next best warrior he could find.  Unless I am mistaken, he has employed an unusually intelligent half-ogre to lead his army.  I refused him twice, which was enough for him, and we parted with an understanding that should we meet again, it would not be
peaceable.

“As to your second question…I did consider it.  I was prepared to do so.  It was not a fear of death that gave me pause; it was my loyalty to the King…and now to you.  Had I lost, you would not have this information.  The fastest Elf that guards our Southern flank would be the extent of your advance warning.  And in the end, that was too large a risk.  Even if this man refrained from his spellcasting—he is a worthy fighter.  It is no guarantee that I would have lived, my Queen.  Few men concern me in battle one-on-one.  Indeed, I earned my Mark by winning a challenge one-on-three.  But this one is different, and I hope I am making that plain.”

The Queen drew her already thin lips together into a tight line.  “Yes.  You are as clear as ever.”  She softened her tone slightly.  “King Alomar was right about you, Strongiron.  Your voice on my council is much appreciated.”  Rising to her full height, only a few inches short of six feet, she stepped down from the throne to walk to the far window.  Gazing out, she said simply, “And that was the last you saw of him?”

Strongiron shook his head, though the Queen wasn’t looking at him.  “No.  I saw him one last time. 
I began to make my way home to Rookwood.  I hadn’t even made it outside the city proper when I heard Xaro speaking from the central fighting pit.  All warriors had been asked to assemble.  My horse was packed, but I lingered on the outside of the crowds to see what announcement he had planned.  It was then that I understood completely.  He had stripped Lord Kensington, mocked and beaten him.  Then he asked all the would-be Warriors who they stood to learn more from; a new Master-At-Arms appointed by this kneeling Lord, or Xaro the Ogre-slayer, the Griffin-killer.  He would rebuild the pits, outfitting them better, manning them better, and when they were ready, he would lead them on the greatest mission the world has ever known.”

The queen listened and
turned from the window to look into the face of her serious general.  “What mission?”

Strongiron
stood suddenly, placing his palms open faced in front of him.  “He means to take over the world, and called on the ancient name of Kuth-Cergor as his Master, with columns of flame spewing from his hands and the very soil trembling at his voice.”

Strongiron closed his fists and put his arms at his sides.  “And my Queen, by trick or no—his Master answered.  War is coming, whether we will it or not.  This man is evil, cloaked in truth.”

~Queen Najalas~

The fortress
city of Rookwood was the largest city in Elvidor.  The continent was split by the Crystal Mountains, and in effect was two separate lands.  East of the mountains, Rookwood ruled, with an army that could easily extend south into the Elven homeland of Filestalas
,
and north all the way to Spookwood.  However, few soldiers or loyal knights tried to keep the peace or govern west of the mountains; the Three Fingers area, all the coastal cities and villages were governed by Lords or Elders or rogues that largely served their own interests and were accountable to their local community or no one.  Queen Najalas knew this and did not try and extend her power over the West…especially now.  There were enough problems in the East, and in the rest of Tenebrae to contend with, if her New Commander was to be believed.

Queen Najalas had been busy in the days since Strongiron had notified her of this Xaro and his unholy God.  She had sent emissaries to the other four continents, and had even sent envoys across the Crystal Mountains into the surrounding villages on the western side of Elvidor.  She had reached out to the many
Dwarves known to roam the continent of Oraz south of the fighting pits of Kekero, along the great Hawthorne mountain range.  She had dispatched warriors to the Ice Realm of Rok-Throx on a fool’s mission to find Yeti that would fight if called upon.  On a whim and a prayer—quite literally—she had sent a mage, Quentin, who possessed some talent for healing, on a quest to see if there really were any True Clerics left in the world.

Of course
, her first action upon hearing Strongiron’s tale was to send a second warrior, Quinn, to Kekero to find Lord Kensington and verify this unreal story.  She trusted her General completely, but it was a fantastical tale of Superhuman Warriors and Gods and Evil and Armies and Conquest.  Before the Queen would do anything, she needed more than the word of one good man.

Two
months later, she had her proof.  Lord Kensington had accompanied Quinn back to Rookwood himself, begging the Queen for aid, sanctuary, and help in general.  His pits had indeed been emptied by that “villain” Xaro.  She had looked at the sniveling man in front of her with a mix of pity and disdain.  His wounds had nearly healed, but he would always walk with a limp.  He showed the Queen his back, and the scars were all the proof she needed to verify Strongiron’s account.

Weeks passed, and her d
efenses were somewhat bolstered, but defending the castle was not her main concern.  She still wasn’t sure she believed a God—any God—was returning to the affairs of men, but she didn’t suppose she’d be able to stop one if he wanted the castle.  Therefore she discounted that threat, preferring to focus on the things she
could
stop.  But if this Xaro truly meant to take over the world, there would be a need for united resistance across continents and sea.  Coordinating that would be an enormous challenge.  What she needed was information, advice, wisdom.  After meeting for some time with the neighboring Elves, she set her mind on seeking council with the wisest person any of them knew.  She would not trust this mission to anyone but herself.

S
he set out with a small retinue on a slow, winding journey through the woods of Filestalas to traverse nearly the width of her realm in order to seek out Pilanthas in Shith. 
Who’s crazier, the ancient, Elven prophet or the Queen who seeks his advice? 
She smiled as she nudged her horse along.  Before reaching Shith, she would visit Thalanthalas, of course.  The Elven Chieftain Chocktaw and his daughter, Lady Elyn, would be offended if the Queen travelled this far and didn’t grace their hidden hall.

Chapter 6:  Treachery Revealed

~Tar-Tan~

Hundreds of oars dipped soundlessly and rhythmically into the black water in the dead of night.  A cloudy night obscured both moon and stars, and the Uncharted Isles might as well have been black coal floating in black oil in a sealed barrel.  The islands lived at edge of the map, rarely visited and virtually unknown. 
Virtually.

Xaro knew about the islands.  He knew about the
inhabitants.  The men on the islands were strong; they worked the land hard.  And there were many, many men.  No army had landed on their shores for several generations.  Whatever defenses they may have would be light.  And because Xaro knew these things…so, too, did Tar-Tan.  His planning had been impeccable, and he could now make out the vague blue-on-black outline of the nearest isles.

Tar-Tan thought about Xaro’s parting words as he led the small armada of longboats toward the sandy shoreline:
“…give the men you find something to fight for, not just something to fear.”
  In the dark he grinned and shook his head to no one in particular. 
Sure, Xaro.  I’ll just wake them all up and tell them to leave their families and homes to go fight for a long-forgotten God that I myself am not sure even exists.

No, we’ll be doing this
my
way.  I can’t shoot fire from my hands or cause a booming voice to manifest itself from a crack in the sky.  But I’ve always found a way of
motivating
people to do what I need.

And what I need is an army—a flesh and blood army. 
As he gave the signals for the boats carrying 1,500 of his best warriors to fan out, Tar-Tan was resolved to be Xaro’s top lieutenant.  He would build him an army from the men of these islands.

~Magi~

Magi walked through the rain into his barracks to check on Kyle. 
Ten years is a long time…more than half my life. 
“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Fine
,” he said.  Kyle’s head looked completely normal, and he certainly sounded ok.  Perhaps not quite as energetic or playful as he knew him to be, but given the force of the blow, Magi was thrilled that he was talking and not bleeding.  Kari sat on the other side of the bed, staring at Magi.  Marik stood near the foot of the bed.  “I’m fine—really.  Master Marik patched me up.”

Master Marik smiled at Magi and turned to his patient.  “Let’s let Kyle get some rest,” he said. Then he turned to Magi.  “You too.  You have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Master—are we continuing the Tournament?  Am I not disqualified?”  Magi asked.  He looked at Kyle.

“No.  You compete against Tarsh in the morning.”

“Tarsh?  Why not Ragor?” Magi asked. 
Surely I won’t have to face another close friend, after this.

“Ragor won his round
, and awaits the winner of Tarsh and your match.”  Marik replied.

“But…”

“But what?” Marik rounded on Magi.  “You won.  You must fight Tarsh.  The Tournament has been a tradition for nearly twenty years, since I first opened my school in our village.  I will not disqualify you—I saw no evidence of cheating.  Are you claiming that you cheated?”

“No.  No of course not.  But the power of some of my spells could be harmful to other students, and
—”

Marik interrupted, “The practice of magic can be harmful to some students.  Look
—what happened here was an accident.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Let this go, Magi.  Remember what we discussed, and prepare yourself for Tarsh tomorrow morning, one hour after sunrise, when you hear the bell.”  Marik left, his cloak snapping in the wind as he opened the door to a growing storm.

“Magi, the Master is right.  I’m ok
—really.  Just a little headache.  Go get some sleep.  You too, Sis.  I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you
out there,” Kari said.  “I was frightened.  I mean, I felt some real power in the air.  What did Master Marik tell you?” 
She knows I can’t keep a secret from her.

“Nothing much.  Just
—he wants me to do a better job of regulating how much power I put into each spell.”  Magi stared at the dark-haired illusionist.  While Marik’s solid white eyes were striking, Kari’s bright green eyes were equally striking.  The hibiscus scent from her thick, dark hair, the reconciliation in her voice, the hint of a smile on her lips, and the warmth of those spectacular eyes unnerved Magi. 
I can’t picture her with colorless eyes—would she really climb the Staircase at that cost?
“No major revelations, that’s for sure,” he said.

“Well, he’s right on two counts:  You do need to be careful and you do need to prepare for tomorrow.  Tarsh is good, Magi.  He’s not the chubby kid that used to run through melon patches with us years ago.
  Remember the time you saved us as kids from that wolf in Lady Goodwin’s Mikenese melon patch?  You remember, Kyle, don’t you?”  She smiled at her brother, her voice rising slightly at the excitement of her memory.

There was something about her reminiscing like this that made her unbelievably attractive. 
Magi turned his head to look at Kyle and saw an odd look on his face.  Was it…envy?  Anger?  It was gone just as quick as it came.  “Actually, I believe it was Lady Goodwin that saved us all.  That was the day we discovered the old farmer’s widow was actually a magic user.  Not a True Mage, but she could fire a wicked magic missile.”  Kyle corrected his sister.

“Yes, she did save us in the end, I suppose.  But Magi stood his ground.  The rest of us scattered, dear brother.” Kari added dryly, in the way only a sister can get under a brother’s skin.

Magi just said nothing, quietly beaming, but not wanting to boast.  He kept flicking his eyes back and forth between Kari and Kyle, hoping they’d change the subject. 
Well, kinda hoping.

Finally Kyle smirked.  “Yeah, I guess we did kinda bolt.  The bards will surely sing of that fateful day.  Perhaps they’ll call it ‘The Making of a Legend—Magi
Blacksmooth the Brave’, and not a dry eye in the pub nor an empty mug shall ensue,” he added, laughing off the slight edge in his tone.  Soon they were all chuckling at the memory.  “So what’s your point, Sis?”

Kari quickly got serious again. 
“Just what I said.  Tarsh shouldn’t be taken lightly, Magi.  In case you two haven’t noticed, your other roommate is not that pudgy kid from ten years ago who was thrilled just to be invited to hang out with us.  He’s very talented. And we all know what Ragor is capable of.”

Kari got up and smiled at Magi. 
Is this her real face, or an illusion?
  Those eyes were so arresting they were almost unnatural.  Almost.  She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.  Her skin was a shade darker than her brother’s.  Nothing close to elvish skin, that was a deep reddish-brown, but more mocha-looking.  That thick, dark hair always smelled like it was rinsed in crushed flowers and seemed to flow perfectly over her shoulders.  And when she spoke…especially in the middle of a complex incantation for an illusion she was weaving, you couldn’t help but notice the contrast of her perfect teeth set against her ripe, cherry lips.

“Goodnight, Kyle.  Feel better
, my brother.”  She turned again to Magi and took his hand, squeezing gently. “See you tomorrow, Magi.”  She stared at Magi just long enough that he thought he might drown in those light green eyes.  And then she left.

“That sister of yours is something.” Magi said
as he looked at the door that had just closed behind her.

“She’s my sister.  Get your head in the game and out of the gutter.  The stakes are high in this tournament.  What’s your plan for Tarsh?”  Kyle asked.

He turned to look at Kyle and wiped a lingering grin off his face, twisting his ring out of habit.  “I’m not sure.  I suppose I can’t overdo a sleep spell, can I?”

~Magi~

The next morning
, Kyle joined Magi for breakfast in their small quarters.  In Marik’s school, boys lived in small homes together in groups of four, sharing a small eating area, two to a bedroom, a common study area, and a practical hall for practices and potion brewing.  There was also a waste room for relieving oneself.  That was basically it.  Sitting down at their eating table, Magi feasted on meager slice of fatty ham and half a Mikenese melon—a fruit known to increase the power of one’s spells that the old farmer’s widow, Melanie Goodwin, loved to grow.  Normally, Magi would eat a whole one, but given his recent struggles controlling the energy within his spell casting, he thought he should cut back, especially facing another friend.  But he couldn’t abandon his morning routine altogether.  (Of course, Tarsh was probably cramming six or seven melons down his throat as well, but no matter…Magi was supremely confident.)

“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Kyle started in a low voice.  “Kari’s right.  Tarsh is not going to be a pushover.  Don’t look past him to Ragor...he’s become a really good mage.”

He’s a good, young mage, but high-strung,
Magi thought.  “Yes, he is,” was all he said, also in a hushed tone, mindful of their other roommates.

“The three of us, along with Nugget, have been living together for ten years.  I’d say he’s probably grown the most in that time, wouldn’t you?”

“He’s grown bigger, and no longer looks, shall we say, pudgy…but let’s be honest, Kyle, nobody would confuse him with a warrior, either.  Not in appearance or demeanor.  But I get your point.  Trust me, I’m taking him seriously.  We surely know he’s taking everything seriously.”

Tarsh was
always serious
, thought Magi.  And yet he clung to Magi and Kyle whenever they decided to do anything unserious, like the outsider who said little, but was grateful to be included in fun stuff.  Magi had no doubt Tarsh had started preparing for this very morning right after he’d helped Master Marik get Kyle back to the barracks.

“
Has Tarsh said anything to you yet, Magi?” Kyle asked quietly, glancing at the next room where he knew Tarsh was seated, pouring over a large book.  “He’s been sitting there half the morning.”

“No
—I’m sure he’s doing his last minute studying.” 
Perhaps I should review a few more spells myself?
  “Let’s go say hi before the match.”  Magi finished the last of his tart melon and got up.

Kyle
rose with him and they walked through the archway into the boys’ study room.  Most of the boys’ time was spent inside their school building, or outside in the courtyard, with the rest spent in the village proper.  Many students had parents in the village, although some had parents that lived as far away as eastern side of the Crystal Mountains. 

“Hi Tarsh,” Magi began
, still twisting his ring absentmindedly.  “I wish we weren’t facing off today.”  He paused.  “Good luck.  I mean that.”

“You too.”  Tarsh
glanced up from his spellbook.  He had striking features:  thick, wavy hair the color of tree bark that he often wore in a severe ponytail, meticulously oiled.  His long, angular face and thin eyebrows made him look even more serious, to the point where even his smiles seemed a little forced and out-of-place on his face, like a cheery painting drawn in blood.   

“I probably need a little more work than you, Magi, so if you’ll, excuse me, I’d like to keep reviewing some things.  We don’t have more than an hour before our match.” 
He did his best to smile at Magi before putting his head down and returning to his book.

He’s afraid.  My friend is afraid of me.

“I understand.  Well—good luck, Tarsh.” 
I hate fighting my friends.

~Magi~

A large bell tolled from a tower near the center of Brigg, and everyone poured out of their modest barracks to view the mid-morning battle between Tarsh and Magi.  Kyle and their other roommate, Nugget (whose real name was Edward, but his three friends called him Nugget due to his ridiculously curly, gold-colored hair), were near the edges of the Tournament Square.  Thirteen other students who were of age and had been (or still were) participants in the Tournament were set apart in the stands, including Kyle.  The rest of Marik’s school, as well as many interested villagers, were sprinkled around the square.  Thirteen of the original sixteen competitors had been eliminated, leaving only Magi and Tarsh and Ragor Stri—a kid far too large and thick to be a mage.  Yet a magic-user he sought to be, despite the fact that he was always (physically) bullying younger kids the way an aspiring warrior might.  Magi’s other roommate, Nugget, who was fond of nicknames, had dubbed Ragor “Thick,” or “Tricky Thicky,” or “His Royal Thickness”….both because of his physical presence and fairly lackluster wit.  Still, Ragor was strong, intimidating, sometimes cruel—and competent.  He may not have been the fastest mage, or most deft, but he almost never missed a spell, and always was in good position with his offensive and defensive casting.  He had beaten three talented classmates to make it to the finals.

Just as before, Magi entered the square, removing his jewelry (he always felt a bit naked without his ring), and was lightly searched.  Nothing but spell components could be brought into the tournament square. 
The crowd quieted as Marik began with the formalities.