In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (28 page)

No
—a direct move against the True Warrior, who perhaps was already the Queen’s General, would not likely bear fruit.  She realized that subtlety would be needed in this case.  She allowed the same smile that few ever saw to continue to spread across her beautiful, porcelain face: Strongiron would need to love her first.

It was then that she felt the familiar tingle of Xaro, half a world away, requesting a meeting.

~Xaro~

The spell would be similar, altered to allow all five shades to appear in an arch around Xaro’s favorite chair.  More black powder, more concentration, and more of his energy was required to bring the images of all five of his lieutenants together.  He finished his incantation, and slowly the shades began to fill in around each outline based on the person he called to mind.  Though it was not impossible to cast the spell without meeting them, it certainly helped.  He would never had been able to connect with Trevor or Veronica if Nathaniel and Silverfist hadn’t been able to mentally share their images with Xaro; part of the spell required a clear mental picture of the person whose image you’re summoning.  Having met them all now, the spell was completed flawlessly, though it was taxing to maintain all the connections.  Xaro sat down, but started the discussion with few pleasantries.

“My friends,” he began
simply.  Today he was dressed in thick, midnight blue robes, adorned with a fine silver belt, upon which several small pouches hung within easy reach.  He shifted in the lone chair within this small room that he intended to use going forward for all his council meetings.  “What are your updates?”

All five shadows
flickered.  Xaro turned to his priest first.

“
Xaro, there is further progress.”  The deep, slow voice of his Dark Cleric seemed to echo off the castle walls.  He was dressed in his customary black robes, which were always luxurious, adorned with symbols on the sleeves that only he and Xaro could read.  There were few pouches at his belt, but he did carry a thick staff of dark wood.  As usual, the shadow of the man facing Xaro had long black hair, streaked with grey, which today was well oiled and slicked back into a pony tail which fell just below his shoulders.  “I have not found my leper colony or similar pestilence, but we have begun converting another village.  Our numbers of undead warriors continue to increase.”  He smiled slightly through his perfectly trimmed, coal-colored goatee, setting his staff across his lap to free up his long, slender fingers for gestures.

Xaro considered his Dark Cleric’s update.  “Define progress.”

The pencil-thin eyebrows slanted inward, annoyed.  “We now have 50 undead warriors. 
Master
.”

Fifty? 
“Is that all?  We discussed thousands, yet you struggle for hundreds.  When will I receive the undead army you boasted of weeks ago?
” 
Xaro said, folding his arms across the deep blue folds of his robes.

“You will get the army when I get the deaths.  I have told you this before—it takes
fresh
dead to animate—I can’t just head to a graveyard and throw up a prayer.  A strong child armed with a nice club can make short work of an animated skeleton.  A zombie is a walking disease, resilient, and can replicate itself.  The bodies must be fresh, Xaro, if you want an undead army capable of our goals.  I thought the city of Shu-Tybor might hold promise…but no.  There is nothing for us there.  So I pick up new warriors going from village to village.  As I said, a leper colony or pestilence would serve my needs quite well.  Be that as it may, I move at the pace with which Kuth-Cergor answers my prayers.  Creating the undead, as you well know, is the
pinnacle
of our craft.  It cannot be rushed, and he has told me to stay on the continent.”  The shadow of his Dark Cleric never dropped his eyes from Xaro.  He seemed to delight in reminding his Master of the skill he had attained that Xaro lacked.  Xaro, however, saw the eyes of the others constantly darting back and forth between he and his Dark Cleric.  Veronica and Trevor, in particular, both had surprised looks on their faces when his cleric reverently invoked the name of a god most considered part of the fabric of mythology.

“Very well.  Perhaps you should pray more earnestly, then.”  He turned to his Dark Mage, and without a word simply nodded as if to say,
your turn.

“Master,
it goes well.  As I told you last week, the scroll has been read to the boy.  The plan we began nearly twenty years ago has begun to come to fruition.  We travel now for his prophecy.  I will have more information for you after that.”  The voice of his Dark Mage was crisp and direct, and he looked around at the other members of the small council. The Dark Mage was dressed in simple travelling garb:  brown tunic, dark pants, and high boots.  A thick cloak, finely stitched but worn-looking, flapped silently behind the shade of Xaro’s Dark Mage.

Xaro pressed his lips together and ran his hand through his curly hair. 
Interesting that Marik was quick to let everyone know he was my first confidant. 
“Very well.  You and I will speak again.  Within the cycle of our next moon.”   Turning his attention to the third member of his council, he extended his hand to the shadow of his Assassin.

“Master, I
have procured all the materials I am likely to need.  As you know, the Assassins Guild is based in Shoal.  I have replenished my inventory of poisons, darts, blades, and disguises.  I have sailed for Nervadine, and from there I have begun to make my way overland toward the East on horseback.  I have no setbacks as of yet to report.  The task continues as planned.  Strongiron will be dead soon after I reach him.  Give me three months for travel across the mountains and a few weeks to get close.”  The sweet sound of his Assassin caused the other shadows to turn their heads toward her as they became aware that Xaro had put a contract on Strongiron’s head.  Marik, in particular, raised one eyebrow.

Beautiful and deadly. 
Xaro allowed himself a moment’s distraction whenever he listened to her updates, flattering her with his silent, penetrating gaze. 
She is well chosen.
  “I am sure you are up to the task.”  One last half smile before he turned his attention to his Master Thief.  Again, just a silent nod.

“Master, similar to your Assassin, I have departed the Thief’s Guild in Shoal, and have travelled north through Fostler and now into Brigg.  As I showed you in our last conversation, I have the ring, and will find passage in Gaust to
Sands End
.
”  Trevor held up an unusual ring.  It was silver, with a small onyx square atop it, embedded with a diamond-shaped emerald.  Before Xaro could nod, the shadow of Marik spoke:

“That is Magi’s ring, Master.”

“Indeed it is.  And it shall now be mine.”  Xaro looked at Marik, waiting to see if he would ask.  He did.

“If you wanted his ring, why didn’t you ask me to get it for you?  I could have taken it from him anytime over the last eighteen years.”  Though his Dark Mage had the pure white eyes of most any True Mage, if he
had
had pupils, Xaro was convinced they would be boring into him right now.

So you now understand that I fully trust no one.  Good. 
“It has come to my attention that the ring may have interesting properties.  I did not want you to lose focus on your primary task, Marik.  Besides, I needed to see my new Master Thief prove himself, which he has.  You have already proven yourself, Marik.” 
The best lies are seasoned with some truth.

“Apparently there is more to prove,” was all he said, bowing his head and taking a small step back.

Trevor continued, somewhat uncomfortably.  “As I was saying, I am now headed to Gaust to buy passage across the sea to deliver the ring to you, Master.  I should be ready for another update within a month as well, hopefully aboard a ship by that time.”  There was a sense of pride in the sound of his Thief’s voice as he gave his update.

I probably should have told my little thief not to show the ring off in this group—at least not to Marik.  So be it…my Dark Mage would find out the truth about the ring eventually, assuming my own suspicions are true.  This will just accelerate it.

“Very well.  Go with speed.  I shall reach out to you within a month’s time for our next update.”  Turning to his fifth lieutenant, he nodded at an enormous warrior.

“Master, it goes
well.  We have taken the Isles, and make our preparations to begin our journey back towards Sands End.  We have subjugated an army.  A
real
army.”  He added pointedly, turning toward the flickering shade of the Dark Cleric.

I still have my doubts about this one as well.  If only Strong
—no…I won’t look back.  The fool had his chance.
  “Your losses?”

“None, Master.  More than 40,000 men are now in shackles, preparing to depart, with their families under our boot as collateral for their ‘good behavior’” Tar-Tan crossed his arms, causing his massive biceps to ripple.

“So you will control the men by threatening their families who will be left behind?  Remember what I told you—these men are to be forged into an army under your command.  They must have something to fight for.” Xaro started to say more, but Tar-Tan interrupted.

“You asked me to make an army for you of farmers and goat herders.  That is what I’m doing.  When they kneel before you in the pits that my men are finishing at
Sands End, you can call forth that voice of yours from the sky, like at Kekero, and let these fools witness the same spectacle we did.  That will be enough to get them to fight for you.  But from now until then—let the fear of losing a loved one drive their behavior.  It will be enough.”  Tar-Tan made a fist that he pounded into his open hand for emphasis.

Xaro just looked at his massive General.  “It had better be.”

Xaro stood up in the midst of all five shades. 
All in all—about as I expected. 
“Excellent for those making progress.  See that you continue to do so.  I now have an update for all of you.”  Xaro paused and allowed a smile to creep across his face.  “I myself have not been idle.  You will find Sands End
has been prepared.  As our General and our Cleric have just alluded to, Kuth-Cergor has re-entered this world.  Our God has much higher expectations, bigger goals, and less patience than even I do.  Letting me down will be a thousand times better for you than letting our Master down.”  He paused, pointing at each shadow in turn.

“And you do not want to let me down.”

~Magi~

The telltale signs of a nearby village began to dot the horizon.  The landscape began to change, with the forest thinning out, dotted with scattered stumps of trees that had been hacked down for wood.  Smoke could be seen in the distance over some rolling hills.

“Briz
,” Marik muttered to his two students.  Magi thought he sounded a little perturbed about something, but he didn’t bother to ask.  Magi wasn’t feeling bright and cheery either.  They had been walking and camping for days.  The prospect of finding an inn or a tavern in which to lay their heads was a welcome thought.

The sky show
ed the first signs of dusk as the sun began to set.  Brilliant orange hues mingled with the smoke from multiple homes and forges, and the effect on the underbelly of the clouds was striking.  “What an eerie-looking sky,” Kyle commented.  Magi just nodded as they trudged toward a nearby inn.

The biggest difference between Briz and the village of Brigg
in which Magi grew up was the size and density.  Briz was larger and more populated.  It was therefore far more dirty, smelly, and undoubtedly more dangerous, judging from the number of transients who seemed to make a living by their swords.  Perhaps Magi was just nostalgic, but Brigg had a sense of
community
, with everyone playing a part
. 
Briz just looked crowded, like a village almost large enough to be called a city, but lacking organization and infrastructure.  The body of a man lay sprawled on the side of a dirt road, covered in filth and reeking of decay as even the birds seemed hesitant to peck away at him.  Nobody stopped to burn, bury, or move the man.  Marik, Magi, and Kyle didn’t stop, either. 
That would never happen in Brigg.

They came to a decent looking inn. 
“A room, good sir,” Marik said as they entered an inn called
The Crystal Break
near the outskirts of the large village. 
 
Its sign had a range of mountains in the background, with a glacier of ale flowing into a mug at the bottom.  Magi thought it was eye-catching.

“And some ale
,” he said.

Marik looked back at the young man and raised one eyebrow.
“And some ale,” he repeated.

“Absolutely.  No problem whatsoever!” said the innkeeper.  He was a short man
—
too thin to work in a tavern
, Magi thought.  A pointy beard did nothing but draw attention to his rather triangular-looking head.  “Follow me!” He beckoned cheerfully.

“Grab a table in the common room and get something to drink for us all
, since you’re the thirsty one, Magi.  Kyle—help me carry some of this into our room.”  Marik followed the strange-looking bartender, who seemed to be in a hurry to show them to their room.  Kyle moaned something about a double as he passed by Magi to grab his pack.