In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (22 page)

They set a leisurely pace, with Kyle in the lead.  It was a warm afternoon,
and they passed many villagers going about their business.  The whole place was in somewhat of a buzz as they began their journey. Magi’s prowess was well known—he’d been a magical prodigy ever since Marik agreed to raise him.  Black-John the smitty walked over to wish the boys good fortune.  “Seen many of you kids go visit the mountains with your Master.  Take care of yourselves.”

“Thanks,” said Magi.  The large man was always wearing the same hard leather vest, a spider-web of salt stains crystallizing from the daily sweat that poured off him and hardened over night, only to be re-soaked the next day.  Magi paused briefly, seeing a fine-looking sword that his friend was about to temper.  “That’s a great looking blade, BJ.  Who are you making that for?”

Black-John smiled.  “You like it?  Actually it’s not for anyone, Magi.  Or rather, I guess it’s just for me.  Not enough work to keep me busy all the time, mostly just nails and horseshoes, anyhow.  But sometimes don’t you ever feel like doing something beautiful just because you can?  Ever feel that way?”

Magi gave a sheepish smile.  “Yes, I sure do understand that.  But why do you stay, BJ?  Don’t get me wrong, Brigg
needs you.  But you could do so much more in one of the cities.”

The smitty shook his head.  “Nah, I doubt it.  The cities already have their metal smiths.  Can’t pack up a forge and take it with me.  I’ve got a family to think about, you know.  We get by.”  He nodded his head toward Marik, who had gotten a bit ahead with Kyle.  “Maybe not as good as your Master, but we eat.  Janie finds a way to pull veggies out of the hard ground we have behind our home, and Packard and Gains’ll trade with me when winter goes long.”  He mopped the sweat off his brow with his forearm and shook Magi’s hand, grinning warmly.  “Travel safe, son.”

“Take care.  That is one heckuva sword.”  Magi smiled back at his friend and hustled to catch up with Kyle and Marik.

Phillip Xavier Trenton
the village Elder, found them as they neared the edge of Brigg.  “Ah, going to visit your prophet.  So much about magic that escapes me.  A word, if I may, Magi?”  He smiled pleasantly at Marik as he gently put his arm around Magi and led him away from the others.  “I just wanted to encourage you on this important day.  As you can see, everyone in our village is, well,
curious
to hear what is said about you.  I think it would help our spirits a bit if could share a few tidbits, just a nugget or two, with a few important people in our little hamlet here.  You see, people feel connected to you, Magi.  You’re a bit of a celebrity, you know.”  His smile always made Magi uncomfortable.

“Elder, you know I can’t share my prophe
cy.”  Magi was as tall as Phillip, and looked him straight in the eye.

“Well, yes, of course.  I know you mages have your secrets.  But this would be just a nugget, a snippet
—you know, the populace is just so
interested. 
Think of how the right words might help us keep the villagers in good spirits, Magi.  There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”  He was still smiling at Magi.  “I assure you, this would be just between you and I.  Not everyone is cut out for
leadership,
my young friend.”

“Thank you for
your words, Elder.  I will consider them.”  He removed Phillip’s arm and walked back to Kyle and Marik. 
He seeks my approval, my favor. 
Magi was used to some attention from other villagers stemming from his magical exploits.  And he was comfortable with most of it.  But this was the first time Phillip sought something from him…politically.  He was less comfortable with that.

“
So, the golden boy is having private words with our Elder now,” Kyle teased…but again with a slight edge that he tried to laugh off.  “What did Phillip want with you?” he asked when Magi returned, sounding more direct than he probably intended.  Magi looked up at him and then over at Marik, who returned his stare with those frightening eyes of his.

“Information.  He wanted to know if I would tell him about my prophe
cy when we get back.”  Magi finally turned to look at Kyle while twisting his father’s ring.

“
Phillip is not to be trusted,” Marik said as he quickened their pace to avoid any further delays.  The village gave way to fields that were owned by Packard and Gains, community farmers.  It was a sprawling portion of land that was flat before yielding to nearby forests.  They were travelling mostly east and slightly north. Past Melanie Goodwin’s small melon farm was about as far as Magi had gone in this direction.  Of course, it had only been several weeks ago that he and Kyle had travelled to the West, all the way to the coastal city of Gaust to bring Marik the Scroll of Tralatus.  They trudged on in silence for awhile, each presumably lost in their own thoughts.

In the case of Magi, his own revolved around a certain illusionist, with stunning eyes and fragrant hair.

~Xaro~

Scattering the black dust high into the air, it settled into an outline no taller than five and one-half feet from the ground.  Xaro finished his spell, and the shimmering outline began to fill in with details:  a bright yellow shirt with tight brown cuffs, mis-matched eyes, and a nest of red hair.

“Hello, Trevor,” Xaro began.  “You have been most highly recommended to me.”

Trevor’s shade smiled politely.  “Thank you.  Your own exploits are…self-evident.”  He was staring at Xaro’s normal-looking eyes. 
He is a quick observer of details,
thought Xaro.

“Yes, we all have our secrets.  In fact, that is part of our discussion…secrets.  Tell me Trevor, how did you find, enter, and leave the hidden city of the Elves with one of the most recognizable jewels lifted from their princess?”

Xaro was dressed impressively this morning, wearing high black boots polished to a fine shine, black trousers and a matching black tunic with silver trim.  He wanted to make sure his wealth—and hence his ability to
pay
for success
—was blatant.  He made a sweeping gesture and took a seat, ready to hear the tale.

Trevor took the amulet out that was tucked into his yellow tunic.  Even the shadow of it a continent away was magnificent.  He held it up as he went through his account:  the fooling of the Elves to get them to invite him in, preying on their hospitality, his disguises, the calculated risks he took that the guards would be called, and his escape through the trees, right down to using their own thorn bushes against them.  Xaro expected it to be boastful; what he heard was a simple, dispassionate recitation of events like one might relay a recipe for leavened bread.

“And what will you do with this gem, now that it’s yours?”  Xaro inquired.

“Keep it for a couple years.  Let it be lost to the world for some time.  I will sell it then on the black market.  I hope to not have to break it into smaller jewels in order to do so…it is a beautiful amulet.  I should think its top price will be as it is, but we shall see.”  Trevor tucked it back inside his yellow tunic.

“I am surprised Nathaniel let you keep it for yourself.  Surely the Guild would like to retain such a prize?”

“Actually, it is better for them that I have it.  Why make themselves a target of the Elves?  They expect to receive their cut when I sell the gem.  Until then, better in my hands as far as they’re concerned.”

This little man has certainly mastered his emotions, and is patient to boot. 
“Most thieves would have sold that by now.  You have not—why is that?”  Xaro pressed.

Trevor shook his head slowly.  “Most thieves would be satisfied with the story and the gold they could not store.  So, they would spend it all in a few months.  If I wasn’t a target of the Elves before, surely I would be if I sold it so quickly.  Someone would connect it back to the seller so soon after it was taken.  As we speak, I am sure Rookwood will put a bounty out as well, given how close the kingdom is to the Elves.  I have time before I need to move the gem.  Besides, the value of having it isn’t really the gold that I can exchange it for.  The value is that I am having this conversation with you, which over my life may dwarf the value of this gem.  Would we be talking had I not already proven myself in this manner?”

Practical.  Direct.  I have my man. 
Xaro began to laugh, slowly, but building to a warm, hearty chuckle.  “Indeed, Trevor—we would not.”  He shook his head and let a pause hang in the air.  “Just one more question.  Why did you want to become a thief in the first place?”

Trevor thought about the question for a few seconds, as if deciding how to answer.  He finally shrugged his shoulders and said, “When you look at me, what do you see?  A small man with few assets.  Well, as a Master Thief, I shall have more than a few assets, and the world will look upon me far differently than it does today.   I see how people of wealth are treated in this wretched land.  They’re shown respect.  Even adoration.  I can work on contracts arranged by the Guild, or I can work for you, but one thing I shall have is the
respect
that wealth brings.  So if you want to know why I steal—that is the reason.  Respect from everyone.  Elders seek your favor.  Kings grant you titles.  Slaves beg to work your land simply for food and protection.  And women line up for a chance to be seen with you.  Is there more to seek in a Dark World in one lifetime than this?”

An honest answer from a thief—I never thought I’d hear that. 
“Yes, Trevor, there is more to seek, and in time I will show you.  But for now I am convinced you are the man to join my council.  You have demonstrated the daring and the skill required to take a rare object from a person without seriously harming them.  Which is good, for that is exactly the first task I am assigning you, Trevor Blink.”

~Magi~

“Magi
! Watch where you step!” barked Kyle as Magi walked on his heels for the third time.  Blinking, Magi shook his head and mumbled a distracted apology.  They kept walking.

“So…Master.”  Kyle began.  “About our prophe
cy.  Can you tell us anything about the Ol’ Shakoor?  I feel so unprepared for this—and you always stress preparation.  Surely there is something you can share with us about it?”

Marik cocked his head back at
the boys and smiled.  Without the benefit of “normal” eyes, it always looked a little creepy when a smile slowly spread across his face.  Kyle grinned back, but Magi shook his head—
like trying to butter up a block of stone. 
On they hiked.

Marik said nothing for a minute, and then startled the boys.  “The Tournament is my own tradition for our school in Brigg.  When I was learning the Art, my Master had a Tournament as well, and I always thought it was a great opportunity to put your skills to the test.  The Prophe
cy, however, has a wonderful history.  It is not, as some have hypothesized, a cabal between us teachers and charlatans trying to scratch out some coins.”  He paused, turning to look at Magi, but said nothing.

“A long time ago, 700 years at least, there was an Archmage named Quixatalor.  He was the most powerful magic user the world had ever known, and probably has ever known.  Yet magic was hardly his greatest gift.  He possessed great wisdom, and counseled Kings.  Kings and Warlords, actually.  Three Kings and two Warlords
, to be specific.  He was advisor to Reginald the Third, his son Torbeth the First, and his son Absynth the Weak, as they called him.  Absynth was overthrown in revolt, and the Warlord Karwin the Short rose to power, though at the time few ever referred to him by the title history has hung on him.  He was a Dwarf who sought to rule men and beast.  His tenuous reign lasted 100 years, though—not bad for a fearsome Dwarf, I’d say. The Warlord known as Roc-San filled the void left by Karwin after several years of fighting, uniting everyone under the threat of his terrible war hammer.  Through the peaceful reign of kings and the tenuous fear of those warlords, spanning more than 350 years—Quixatalor was a force of power and a voice of reason throughout the land.  He had some Elven blood, of that I have no doubt.  Yet his long life had more to do with the Art than his bloodline.  It is long believed that he found ways to extend his life through his magic.”

“Did he write those spells down
, do you think?”  Kyle asked.  “And how did he eventually die?”

“
His spellbooks would be a prize indeed.  Who knows what he put to paper?”  There was a tinge of wistfulness in Marik’s voice.  “His death is legendary, but that is a tale for another day.  You asked about the Prophecy.

“During the reign of Torbeth the First, there was a resurgence in the study of magic.  This is not a surprise, given the fame Quixatalor achieved during Torbeth’s father’s reign.  People from all the continents heard of his exploits, and no doubt as word travelled, so the grandeur of his exploits expand
ed.  When he helped Reginald defeat an army of Trolls, you would have thought he singlehandedly walked onto the battlefield, said a few words, and scattered the army of 20,000 in time for dinner.  That is what the people of his day thought of Quixatalor.  He could do no wrong.  And the fact that he never seemed to age only added to his mythology and the allure of magic to people everywhere.