In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (33 page)

Simon was not quiet long.  “This notion that Gods have returned
—”

The Queen interrupted.  “Never left.  He said Dymetra never left.”

“Very well—this notion that the Gods—”

“G.o.d.  Singular.  He was clear that there was only one.”  She knew she was annoying Simon with her interruptions, but she needed to know that he
had actually listened to what had been discussed before she would consider his council.

“Yes.  Fine.  If I may continue, my Queen?  This notion that a God and other beings not of this realm would take
an interest in our affairs considering
we,
apparently,
have taken scant interest in them is difficult to accept.”  He paused to see if his Queen would stop him again.  She did not.  “I find myself, however, convinced of his prophecy.”

The Queen said nothing, but could not keep her eyes from getting larger as she listened.

He continued, with passion.  “I am convinced there was truth in his voice.  I do not know whether it is clairvoyance or mere conjecture, but he believes he has seen these things.  And I believe him.”

“And?” the Queen a
sked.  She considered Simon.  He was one of the most skeptical, most cautious men she had ever met.  It is part of what made him so effective as a bodyguard.  He had saved her life in the past at least twice that she knew of….he would be the least likely person she could think of to be duped.  Even her general, Strongiron, could be fooled easier than Simon.

“And so it implies many things.  I don’t know how to find Dymetra
—she is an ancient God that our race stopped worshipping eons ago.  I wouldn’t know which temple she inhabited, but it would seem that we must find her and pay tribute to her, for Pilanthas was clear that we lack the ability to defeat this demon.”

“Kuth-Cergor
,” the Queen said gently.

“Right.  Kuth-Cergor. 
It seems we lack the ability to defeat him without a God on our side.  So I say we should find Her.  Pilanthas said a cleric would find us, but I see no reason why we shouldn’t go out and find this God ourselves.  I don’t like the idea of waiting around for some cleric to show up on our doorstep.”

“So you believe that this God is real?  And that she is worshipped by True Clerics?  And that she may be persuaded to help us against Kuth-Cergor?  And that our fate is futile without her help?  And that we should go searching for this God and her clerics, though we haven’t the faintest idea where to start?  Is that what I hear you telling me, Simon?”  The Queen pulled her horse to a stop and stared at her
bodyguard.

Simon had to draw his horse up to a stop as well.  For the first time, he saw his Queen as a woman, and not so much a Queen.  It was odd for him.  “Yes.”  He was going to add more, but his Queen broke off a smile that was unexpected.

She laughed lightly and allowed her mount to walk again.  “Good.  We are in agreement.  I will call our small Council and give them a chance to speak their peace, but I will count on you as my only other eyewitness to support this plan, with the Council’s blessing or in spite of their objections.  Now, to discuss tactics—I, too, am not inclined to wait for someone to come knocking on our door.  I’m not sure if you recall this from your early schooling, but I seem to recall that the ancient clerics used to gather and study in Urthrax, the land almost directly across the Sea of Joy from Rookwood.  There is a large port city that can be reached by ship in less than a few weeks.  I will send a small party to the city of Ilbindale, where we will begin our search for the True Clerics.”

~Marik~

“Master Marik, does Magi seem different to you?” Kyle asked as he looked up from his spellbook, distracted a bit.  His friend had been in there for over an hour; it was dark and getting cooler.

Of course he’s different! 
“No, not really.  Maybe a little stressed.  Why do you ask—was it the incident through Elf’s Bane
Pass?”  he asked his young student with a straight face.

“That, and just other things.  I don’t know.  He just seems different.  More distant, brooding.  He was always a leader, but he just seems
—
changed.
”  Kyle hung his head a bit.

Changed and Transformed!  That
is
the general effect the Scroll of Tralatus has on people.  It flips your moral center. 
“I wouldn’t read too much into anything, Kyle.” Marik smiled and spoke in the most gentle of tones. He is receiving a momentous prophecy—any young man your age might react to anxiety a bit differently.  Just be a good friend—his best friend.  That is why you came with us, right?”

“Yes, you’re probably right.  That’s good insight.  As always.  Thanks.” 
Kyle reopened his spellbook and began reviewing the Force Hammer spell Magi had used against him in the Tournament.  Though only a month ago, it felt to Kyle like years.  He instinctively put his hand up to his temple, where the force of the blow had drawn blood.

Marik just
watched Kyle for a long moment while the young man resumed his studies.  He allowed the gentle smile to disappear from his face.  Had Kyle looked up, he might have been shocked to see Marik’s two white eyes staring straight at him, seeming to float in the darkness just outside the light of his simple spell.

It was then that Marik felt the familiar tug of Xaro verifying whether or not he could meet.  “Excuse me, Kyle,” he said.  “I’m going to study myself over in those trees behind Pilanthas’s home.  Wait for me to come back should Magi come out.”

~Xaro~

Today had been an exhilarating morning for Xaro.  Drenched in sweat, he unbuckled his armor after personally training several troops in single-combat.  He relished the opportunity to keep his fighting skills sharp, and the ring of steel-on-steel sounded better to him than the finest music from his favorite minstrel.  Always thirsty, he finished one water skin before starting on another, this one scented with lemon peel.  Standing by a window in his private chamber, he gazed out across Sands End.  To the east was nothing but desert; to the west he could just see the sea if he used a looking glass.  However the surrounding area around Sands End between the Thirsty Desert to the East and the Endless Water of the West would be put to good use; they served as a staging area for the beginning of his army—the new fighting pits.

The appointed time had now come for his next update.  Xaro
stepped away from the window and took a familiar seat, and cast his spell.  The black dust formed the outlines, and soon all five lieutenants emerged in shadowy form, connected telepathically across continents to meet in his fortress on the sands of Garinthia.

“It is good to see all of you again
,” Xaro said coolly. “I trust there has been progress?  Let us start with our Master Thief.  Last we spoke you said your task was done, Trevor.  What has happened since?”

“Master.  I
still have the artifact in hand.  I bought passage across the Sea of Love a week ago, and hope to make port in two to three months’ time, for the crossing is long.  I am below deck now as we speak.”  Trevor’s face was somewhat contorted.  His shimmering image seemed to pitch with the rocking of whatever boat he was on.

“What is the name of your ship?” Xaro asked.

“I am travelling on
The Modest Mermaid,
” he said.  “A fine ship, loaded with minerals from the Crystal Mountains, heading west.  They plan to land on the Great Isle.  My hope is to find passage around the Isle across the northern edge of Ipidine to meet up with you in Garinthia.  I don’t know how much land I’ll have to cover on the Great Isle when we make port.  But I will arrive as soon as possible, my Master.”

“Excellent.  Perhaps I can provide you fair weather.  And now, our lovely Assassin.  Veronica, my dear, how do you fare with
your little assignment?”  Xaro turned his attention to his deadly lieutenant.

“Master
—it is a fitting challenge.  Strongiron is a renowned warrior—though hardly your match, of course—and he is holed up near the Elven homeland with his hideous queen.  But as you know, I can find access to any man.  I have a plan, and have figured out an old smuggler’s route through the Crystal Mountains, which will take weeks off my journey.  As we speak I am underneath the mountains, following a map.  Once through, it will not take long to reach Rookwood.  And when I do, I assure you, I will find Strongiron.  He will fall like all the others.”

She smiled, and Xaro couldn’t help but feel a stirring. 
Soon, Veronica,
he thought.

“That is ingenious, Veronica.  Be quick through those mountains.”  He turned to his cleric.  “Malenec.
  How does it go with you and our army?”  Xaro gazed at his Dark Cleric, unblinking.

His Dark Cleric always looked smug, but today he seemed particularly haughty.  “You will be pleased to know that since our last conversation, Kuth-Cergor has spoken
directly
to me concerning our army.”

Pleased is not the word I would use.
  “So he has spoken to you.  Do tell us what wisdom has been imparted to you.”

“I have been directed to attack Ilbindale.  My small force will begin to attack the city tomorrow.  That should provide us with the numbers we are looking for.”

Xaro tilted his head.  “Ilbindale is a large port city, with forty or fifty thousand inhabitants.  You have 50 zombies.  You are outnumbered a thousand to one.  What is your plan?”

“Why Xaro, I thought after all our training together you would have more faith than that.  What are numbers to Kuth-Cergor?  He has already given me the city.  I only have to take it.”  The Dark Cleric smiled innocently, pressing the tips of his long fingers together as he leaned forward.  Even though his image shimmered, the shininess from his meticulously oiled goatee was unmistakable.

“Having great faith does not abolish the need for great planning, Malenec,” Xaro said, growing more annoyed by the second.  “I have great faith that Rookwood shall fall and Kuth-Cergor shall reign unchallenged forever.  But still he expects me to plan.  Indeed, all of us were chosen in no small part
because
we can devise a plan and execute one.  Leave the result to God, but you are not absolved of planning, my brother.”

“I have told you—we are
not
brothers.  And perhaps it is your insistence on planning everything that creates the gap in your faith that holds you back.”

Xaro
just narrowed his eyes, rose from his chair, and approached the image of his Dark Cleric, speaking softly and slowly.  “Make no mistake:  there is no ‘gap’ in my faith.  My prayer for you is that there is no ‘gap’ in your plan, whether you have one to share yet or not.  If you fail at Ilbindale, my wrath is the smallest of your worries.  You have invoked our God’s name countless times here.  Failure at Ilbindale is nothing less than a rebuke from Kuth-Cergor.  And a True Cleric, deserted by God, is a pitiful creature indeed.”

He turned to the
image of his massive general, oddly wearing heavy scaled armor.  “Tar-Tan—your update?”

“Master” the behemoth began slowly.  “
There has been a change in plans.”

Xaro was in no mood for surprises.  “What change?”

The half-ogre continued.  “As I mentioned in my last update, I have captured many fighters from the Uncharted Isles, south of Ipidine.  Forty thousand men of fighting age and health.”  He shifted his weight, and his spell-image shimmered.  “We tried sailing up the west coast if Ipidine, but late season storms capsized one of our forward vessels and endangered many more.  It was not even that rough of a storm—we would have faced much worse along the way.  The ships we built sat too low in the water, and with the added weight of all the islanders, they become unstable in rough seas.”

Xaro was slowly seething.  “And my great military general did not account for this while you were designing and building the ships at
Sands End?”

Tar-Tan was visibly upset at being mocked, but Xaro could care less. 
If he cannot plan these details, I will find someone who can.  Anyone can bash someone over the head or whip them—it is his planning that makes Tar-Tan special.

“No Master.  We accounted for the weight in summer seas, not late fall.”  Tar-Tan kept his eyes on Xaro for a moment, before finally dropping them.

“Thank goodness you are adept at planning, Xaro.  I can’t imagine the shape we’d be in otherwise.”  Malenec leaned back, the insubordination and sarcasm thick in the air.

“You and I shall discuss this again, Malenec.”  He turned back to Tar-Tan.  “Where are you now, and what is the adjustment?”

“I was forced to set up a camp east of the Dead Marsh.  When the fighters have all regrouped and we have learned how to march properly, and organized our supplies, we will make our way up the Dead Road.  It means a crossing of the Ajax Mountains.”  He sighed.

Xaro shook his head.
“Why take our army across those peaks?  You will lead them directly into the Thirsty Desert on the other side.  That is madness, Tar-Tan.”

“I’ve considered that.  Unless you can
find a way to teleport 40,000 men, or pray your way through it, I see no alternative.  As I said, the ships we used to cross from the Uncharted Isles to the southern tip of Ipidine were ill-suited for a lengthy journey across rough seas.  Over land we have a chance of living off the land as we march—we can sack the city of Misk to the east or we can sack the city of Kuron- Prax to the northwest enroute to the Ajax.  But on the seas, we will have to take all our provisions with us, and we simply don’t have the ships, supplies, or sailors to get around the mountains.  Trust me, I’ve thought this through.  We can expect to lose 10,000 men if we march.  I hope to “enlist” at least that many on the way.  We’d lose all 40,000 if we try and sail the seas, regardless of which coastline we followed.  Either way, we are many months away from delivering you a trained and equipped army at Sands End
.
  You would do well to start building ships now, adjusting them for the design flaw I’ve cited, for we will need them to attack Adimand, Oraz, and certainly Elvidor.”