In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (34 page)

“The dead need no ships
at all,” Malenec said to no one in particular.

“The dead are dead.  My army has the good sense to run from fire, yours will walk straight into it and be consumed.  Wars are won by men who have something to fight for
,” Tar-Tan snapped at the Dark Cleric.  Xaro found it interesting that his general would take this moment to quote him.

“So you say.  What is it you offer your troops
—more enslavement?  My undead army lacks the will to be disloyal—they are animated for my good pleasure and to achieve my ends.  I do not have to offer these corpses anything.  You offer these slaves death, and you require inordinate resources to wage this battle.  Your time would be better spent praying for a plague across Urthrax…that will give me all the fresh corpses I need.”  The Dark Cleric sneered in that infuriatingly superior tone that he used with all of them, including Xaro.

“Enough,” Xaro said.  “We
will need both live and undead warriors to conquer this world.  Kuth-Cergor wills it.  With an army of fighters promised a better life and an army of corpses impervious to pain or fear or even death, nothing will stand in the way of our God’s triumphal return.  And it falls on my Dark Mage to ensure that.  Last but not least, what is your update, my brother?”

Marik was quiet during the whole meeting.  He didn’t answer Xaro quickly, but he finally said, “I am with Magi in Shith.  He speaks to Pilanthas right now.  Already, his personality changes.”

~Magi~

Pilanthas wrapped up his prophetic spell casting and sat down.  He was tired—this had been more taxing than anything he had ever seen.  He regretted the two mugs of ale he had earlier with the Queen.

“Magi,” he began.  “Let me be direct in helping you interpret what we’ve just both seen, which is a jumbled mess.”

Magi smiled and, for the first time in recent days, sat patiently.

“There is a tremendous shadow on your soul
. I cannot tell what it is, for I’ve not seen anything like it in my brief 250-year existence in this realm.  But I fear you must rid yourself of this.  My council to you, which you would be wise to heed, is to seek your father.  I think you may find answers there, though the trip will take you further east.  Fortunately, you have already cleared the mountains at the Elf’s Bane
Pass.”

Magi curled his upper lip and looked at the Elf like he was a fool.  “Surely you know my father is dead?”

Pilanthas clasped his hands together with a gentle smile.  “Perhaps he is not as dead as you have been led to believe, or that your Master even knows.”  He spread his arms open and continued.  “There is also much you should know about the balance of power in this world, Magi.  You are destined to climb the Staircase—I would council you to do so soon.  You are ready.  Perhaps you should learn a few more spells that might help you along the way, but I would not wait much longer.  The world will soon need your power, for your well is deep.  As you know, the depth of the well within a mage determines how powerful their spells are, and I am unsure that a deeper well exists in all of Tenebrae.  But also know this:  you are mortal.  That may be obvious, but it is critical that you understand this.  Many will suffer and die for the cause of your ascent.  If you fail in your ascent, all will be in vain.  But successfully climbing the Staircase is not enough for you either.  If you succeed in your ascent but challenge the wrong foe, all will be in vain.  And if you succeed in your ascent but fight for the wrong side in this upcoming battle, all will be in vain.  It is the thinnest of needles that you must thread, I realize this.  I know all of this must be confusing to you, and it is frustrating to receive riddles when all you want are answers.  It’s just that…so much of your future is grey to me!  Your path forward is… how shall I say this?  It is like you are a Tree.  A Tree with ancient, deep, strong roots.  And yet you are young still, and growing.  Your boughs are splitting into various branches as you seek to unfurl your limbs to the sky and the nourishment of our sun.  However, unlike a normal Tree, for you there is but one path that your branches may take that will lead to the sun.  All the rest lead to darkness, and if you fail to grow toward the light, all those who will depend on your fruit will suffer as well.  This is why it is so difficult for me, because I see shades of many things that may never come to pass with you.  A normal prophecy picks out the most likely path.  For you…” he paused.  “There is no most likely path.”

Pilanthas
sighed and never took his eyes off Magi.  Though he never looked old, the Elf no longer looked young, either.

He continued. 
“You see, a great evil stirs in the East, a True Mage and much more—a man as powerful as you, who serves an ancient evil that has taken a keen interest in our little realm.  War is coming, and your destiny is at the epicenter of this upcoming battle.  But I say this again:  you are mortal.  This ancient demon has a name that you need to know.  He is Kuth-Cergor, and he is
not
mortal.  His chosen instrument for the time being is this other True Mage, a True Warrior, and nearly a True Cleric.  Yes—True Clerics do indeed exist.”  He paused again to drink from his cup of water.  “You may be tempted to fight Kuth-Cergor.  If you value your soul, do not do so…and do not underestimate his chosen instrument.  He is your equal in magic, but trained in far more disciplines as well.”

“My third and final message to you is simply this: this war shall not be won with swords and spears.  Nor
by us mages.  It will be won with Wisdom.  It has been said that one must walk in both the light and the night to wield the Staff of Insight.  It would appear that circumstances are coming together to fulfill this prophecy even as we speak.”

Magi stared at Pilanthas blankly, his head full of questions.

The Elf continued.  “That is your destiny.  You must find this artifact—one of the three fabled Artifacts of the Ancients.  Bring Wisdom to this world, so that we may have a chance at defeating Kuth-Cergor.”

Part 2:  The Staircase

Chapter 12:  Many Journeys

~Serenity~

Serenity was not thrilled with the idea, but
she finally relented.  With Marik on his extended trip down south, several students were well past the time when they should be visiting the Ol’ Shakoor for their prophecy.  Elsa preferred to have students spread out, as she had many schools from the Northwestern area of Elvidor call upon her talents, and it was taxing to have too many come at once.  As the weather grew cold, the prophetess knew a rush of appointments was on the horizon, and she sent word to headmasters and headmistresses to spread them out.  Serenity had been avoiding a decision on this, but as the acting headmistress, she finally agreed once word from Elsa arrived to “encourage” her to send the next group.

“Kari, you may travel with Tarsh to hear your prophe
cy.  I cannot leave to show you the way, but I will ask one of our Rangers from the village to guide you both.  The Ol’ Shakoor will be expecting you.  I suggest that you pack your heavy cloak.”  Serenity smiled as the 17-year-old illusionist struggled to contain her excitement.

“I’ll go tell Tarsh.  Thank you, Serenity!”  Kari ran off to her brother
’s small house to tell his roommate, Tarsh, the exciting news.  Serenity shook her head.  She never insisted that any of the students call her ‘Master,’ it just didn’t fit.  She was Serenity—just Serenity.  She was serving Marik during his absence, and it felt awkward having students—some only 3 or 4 years younger than herself—refer to her as a Master.  “More like a Steward,” she muttered with a modest grin.

She walked casually outside Marik’s guest quarters and into a courtyard where a handful of her wards were studying.  Most were indoors; it was indeed chilly.  The young True Mage gathered her cloak tightly around herself as she picked up her
pace, nodding to her students as she crossed the courtyard to seek an audience with Phillip, the village Elder.

“Ah, my dear Serenity!  Come in, come in.  It is growing colder by the day, I swear.  Here, sit down, warm yourself by the fire.  Tea?  No?  It is a bracing blend of orange and bittermint
—just the sort to warm a young lady’s bones, I should say.  Are you sure?  Well, suit yourself.  Now, to what do I owe the honor of a visit from Marik’s handpicked assistant?  How can I serve you, my dear?” His words oozed out like grease from a roasting pig.  Serenity could barely stand to share a room with the man, let alone a cup of tea. 
The man doesn’t seem to do
anything
here in Brigg.

“Elder, I require a Ranger, and would seek your recommendation.  Two students of mine are travelling unfamiliar ground.”  She stopped talking and hoped
Phillip would just give her a name or two.  She was disappointed immediately.

“A Ranger?  To lead unaccompanied students
, you say?  This wouldn’t be to go visit your prophet, would it?”  When Phillip smiled, rather than convey warmth, it literally sucked the heat right out of the room.  Serenity absently started rubbing her hands together near the fire.

“Elder, I would, ah, well
, I would prefer to keep their journey secret.  Is that possible?”  If Serenity had a spell to extract information from someone, it would have been cast by now.

“Well of course, of course.  Everyone knows how discreet I am.  But surely
we
must speak plainly, for I cannot assign you a Ranger unless first I know a few things, you understand.  But rest assured this will remain in the strictest of confidence.”  Again the smile.

Serenity groaned inwardly.  “Assign?”  She tried not to sound foolish.

“Why yes.  Surely Marik informed you of my role with our talented Rangers?  No?  Well, it falls on me to hand select the Ranger best suited for a given task.  Now, if my good man Venatus was here, I’d surely consider him for this important task.  Alas, your Master asked for my best Ranger several months ago to accompany him, so we will have to look elsewhere.  Now, may I ask again what is the nature of this quest?”  He sipped his tea, his eyes peering over top of his teacup, never leaving her face.

Be done with this foolishness and get out of here. 
Serenity forced a smile and said, “I see.  Your instincts are good, Elder.  I do indeed need a Ranger to lead my two students to visit the Ol’ Shakoor, near the Crystal Mountains.”

Phillip
put his tea down gently.  “Yes, my instincts have served me well.  Your Master says so all the time.  We are quite close, my dear Serenity.  Well you are in luck; I believe I know just whom we should rely on for such an excursion.  Indulge just a couple more questions, please.  Which two students of yours will my Ranger be escorting?”

Serenity paused before answering.  Not sure what the difference it makes, she decided to answer.  “Tarsh Minster and Kari Quinlan.”

Phillip was hoisting his teacup once more when she answered.  He stopped in mid-motion.  “Kyle’s sister?  Our Kari?  The pretty young lady?  She was close to Magi Blacksmooth, wasn’t she?”  He resumed his tea drinking after the briefest of pauses.

“I’m not sure I know, nor am I sure it matters.  Am I missing something, Elder?”  Serenity was reaching her limit with the village politician.

“No, not all.  Not in the least.  Just curious, of course.  It seems like it’s been quite some time since Magi and her brother sought the wisdom of the Elves.  Just connecting the dots, that’s all.”  He drained his tea a little too loudly and finally said, “Yes I believe I know the perfect Ranger.  There is only one last matter to discuss.”

“Yes,
Phillip?”  Serenity was losing patience with the entire conversation.

“Well, payment, obviously.  It falls on me to negotiate payment for our small Guild of Rangers, based on the task, of course.  In this case, to escort and protect two babes through the forest and mountains to reach this prophet of yours will not be easy.  I should say four pieces of gold are required to secure the trip.  Your equipment, should you need any, would be additional.”  Though
Phillip did his best to try and
not
smile here, he couldn’t help himself at the deliciousness of this.

Serenity was stupefied. 
Four
gold pieces?  Before she could open her mouth, he continued, “what price can we put on the peace of mind—the
serenity
, pardon the pun—of having our young students safely escorted in this Dark, Dark World?”

She handed over four gold pieces, hoping she was being a good steward of the school’s resources.

Phillip dropped the gold into some fold deep within his robe.  “Excellent, my young mage!  Excellent.  So wise—I can see why Marik selected you from all his former students to watch over his school.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to arrange for your Ranger.  I think Rebecca will be perfect for this trip.”

Serenity left Phillip and quickly walked back to Marik’s guest house, across the nearly empty courtyard.  She never heard nor saw Phillip negotiate a generous wage of a single gold piece for Rebecca to accompany the two students to see the Ol’ Shakoor.  This was a trip she’d done numerous times for Marik for a few pieces of silver, and she was grateful for the extra money heading into winter.

Phillip the Elder was, of course, a generous man.

~Queen Najalas~

The discussion was lively, the Queen had to admit to herself.  Back and forth.  ‘God seekers’ on one
side, ‘God abandoners’ on the other.  She allowed herself to smile, ever-so-slightly, at Simon, even though the topic could not be more serious.  Her council meant well, but truly, it would be hard for anyone to believe her had they not heard the words from Pilanthas herself.  And she was less trusting than any of them.

“Gentlemen
.” She stood up to calm their voices.  “Gentlemen,” she began again, “I know that this message is difficult to accept.  I myself find it teetering on the edge of believability.  But if you saw Pilanthas—”

“An
Elven conjurer!” someone interrupted.

“SILENCE
!”  The voice of Strongiron echoed throughout their small chamber.  “The Queen speaks!”

“Thank you.”  The Queen continued unperturbed.  “As I was saying, Pilanthas
—who is no liar, we can all agree on that—has made it clear that war is coming, and this war will not be some petty dispute, or even an encroachment upon our shores from the fools on Oraz.  The Elves have kept our southern border free for ages.  No, this will be a war like none other, one that at its heart is less about the conquest of land and more about the conquest of souls.  I cannot say how or why I believe this, but having examined my thoughts, I must confess that I do.  I
feel
this war coming—and you do too—if you’ll quiet yourselves and listen to the stirrings in your belly.  We all know that something is wrong in this land, and it is not the weather.  It has been building to a point within this very generation.  Do not deny it!”

The Queen paused and looked around the room at her small council of advisors within The Rookwood.  Simon
Brisbane, her Captain of the Guard, and Strongiron, her General, were both there.  Her Head of Magic, a True Mage by the name of Niku Whitestone, was joined by Peter Massilon, her Chief Shipbuilder and Admiral of her modest Armada.  Finally, the fifth member of her small council was Jonathan Venerek, her Steward, who essentially ran the castle and saw to the petitioners who lined up daily to have grievances addressed.  Five men, some nodding, some shaking their heads, but all listening intently to their Queen.

Queen Najalas continued.  “So
, this war falls upon our generation.  Would that it were otherwise, but it is likely not.  Therefore, we have much to do in the way of preparation, for as the Rookwood goes, so goes Elvidor, and as Elvidor goes, so will the rest of our realm.  Oraz may fall, and if the rumors are true, Ipidine has already fallen.  I have no word yet of Adimand, but my immediate interest is the fifth continent.  Some call it the Forgotten Land.  I have considered the words of Pilanthas closely, and I believe the truth shall be uncovered in Urthrax.

“I don’t know if this ancient demon, this ‘Kuth-Cergor
,’ has taken root in Tenebrae, nor do I know much at all about this ancient God, Dymetra.  But if there is even a chance that what the old Elf shared with Simon and myself is true, then we owe it to ourselves to seek whatever help we can find.  We could debate this all we want, and I’ve listened to your arguments.  My decision is final:  Peter, select a worthy ship capable of making port at the ancient city of Ilbindale, across the Sea of Joy.  Strongiron, select three or four men of your choosing.  Niku—I need you to accompany them.  If they find any clerics, or evidence of clerics, bring them back to me so that we may learn what has been lost.  We will learn about Dymetra, and learn how to engage her in this coming conflict.  If you find nothing, then come back alive, for we will need every man to deal with this menace.”

“My Queen,” Niku began.  He was a pale man, with grey hair that made him look older than he really was.  Still, at
forty-three, he was no spring chicken.  “I will serve however you best see fit.  But would you not want to keep me closer to The Rookwood in case we are attacked?  Shall I send an apprentice instead?  We have several True Mages, fresh from their Climb, looking for meaningful tasks such as this upon which to cut their teeth.  Even my Number Two—”

The Queen held up her hand to interrupt him. 
Always cautious, Niku. 
“Actually, it is precisely because I have such confidence in your Number Two that I am sending you.  Belara Kassar is more than a capable leader here in your stead, Niku.  Are any of your mages stronger than her?”

“No, my Queen.  She is Number Two for a reason.”  He sighed.  “She is gifted, Your Majesty.  Gifted…and ambitious.”

The other four simply nodded, eyes darting back and forth between the Queen and Niku.

She continued.  “
No, I believe your skills will be needed on Urthrax.  Of the small party that I am sending, I need someone who is deeply educated.  Your younger mages may run faster than you, but who among us is as well read?  Who among us has actually studied anything about the True Clerics?  Who would best be able to tell True Clerics from imposters?  Not your new mages.  Not your Number Two.  Remember, it has been many months since we sent a mage of yours to Shu-Tybor, Quentin I believe, and we never heard from him again.”  The queen sighed a bit wistfully.  “No, Niku.  It must be you.  Make sure Belara knows how to best support Strongiron, Simon, Peter, Jonathon, and myself in your absence.”

Simon spoke up.  “The Enchantress is not going to take Niku’s place on our council while he’s away, is she?”

The Queen fixed her Captain with a curious stare.  “Why should that concern you?  Does she make you nervous, Simon?”

He bristled at the idea.  “Of course not.  I leave it to you, my Queen.  I’m sure Belara will serve you however you best deem fit.”

The Queen’s gaze lingered on Simon before she slowly took her eyes off him to address the entire council.  “Make your preparations.  Appoint your men…and women.  I’d be most pleased if this party sailed before week’s end.  Tell them to find us these True Clerics.  Tell them that if they are successful, we will bring God back to Tenebrae.”