In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (38 page)

The man shifted his eyes around, though nobody but the six of them were in earshot, what with the flames cracking the wood next to them and the general din of the common room.  Still, he lowered his voice and leaned in.  “Lord Bingham runs the city.  Most think he’s a fool, but I says he’s just another corrupt noble in a Dark World.  What’s he to do, anyhow?  As I just said, without a decent mage, how do you get them boats off the bottom of the harbor?  Port’s gonna be closed for awhile…that’s why I’m enjoying the ale at the
Tale
tonight.  Won’t take long to run out!”  He gave his new friends a little half smile and gave Niku a slight nod.  “And thanks for buyin’, stranger.”

Niku took a very restrained sip and smiled back.  He then put on the most inquisitive looking face he could muster.  “You know Orin, a True Cleric could raise those ships.  There was a time when Urthrax was the home of many Clerics.”  He stared at the man to
gauge a reaction.

It was not what Niku was hoping for.  Orin just rolled his eyes.  “Clerics?  Hah!  We’ve got every kind of Cleric a man needs running around this land.  A
True Cleric
?  You’ve got a better chance of finding gold in the harbor with all them boats than finding one real Cleric.  Reckon you need a real god to find a real Cleric, right?  Well, there ain’t no god in this bloody Dark World.  So if you want the port opened, you’ll have to do it yerself, Mage.  Couple of his own mages tried yesterday; I was there at the docks meself.  They couldn’t lift a splinter from the water.  They might not be from Rookwood, mind you, but they had those same eyes as yours.  So Bingham has a few real ones on his staff, though they’re worthless if you ask me.  If you think you’re good, go talk to Lord Bingham and make him an offer.  The man has gold, I guarantee you that.  And he wants that port open, I’m sure, since that’s what keeps the gold comin’ in.  No port, no trade.  No trade, no gold.  Simple as that.  Meanwhile, fools are jumpin’ in the sea to swim for coppers, silverware, barrels, and so forth.  So far only thing anyone’s brought up is a damn cold.  Hah!”

Niku smiled and motioned the barkeep to bring over another round of pints.  Rhee and the others were watching the room and Orin carefully.  “You know, I heard about the treasure hunting at the docks, and took a look myself.  I’m not terribly surprised that no one has found riches on these ships yet.  But I do find one thing odd, Orin.  Don’t you find it strange that not a single
body
has been discovered from all those ships that sunk in one night?  That, I would think, would be the first thing people found, either because they floated up, or the divers found them in the cabins.  Have you heard of any bodies being discovered?”

Orin shook his head slowly and drained the last of his ale just as the next round came and he proceeded to take a fourth of that mug down in one long pull.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his sheepskin sleeves, he leaned even closer to Niku, whispering.  “Aye.  But that’s not the only strange thing I’ve heard.”

“Go on.”

“There’s been whisperin’ of some folks disappearing.  Whole families, different parts of the city.  Nobody I know, and I’m hearin’ it from drunken treasure divers who heard it from someone else.  I dunno.  But…”  He paused.

“Yes?”  Niku leaned closer.

“Stranger, I don’t know what you’re here for.  Can’t say we get a lot of visitors from Rookwood, and I don’t know that I’ve
ever
seen a fancy mage come into town.  But I will say this:  somethin’ strange is going on.  Those ships didn’t sink in a storm, those bodies didn’t just disappear, and them families ain’t vanishing on their own neither.  And now you show up talkin’ bout True Clerics and runnin’ with no less than four True Warriors bodyguards, or I’m an Elf.  All this is connected somehow.  I thank you for buyin’ me some ale and all, but I’ll be headin’ out now, if it’s all the same to you.”  He finished his second mug quickly and gave Niku a curt nod.

“Orin…just one more question before you go.”  Niku stood up to let the man pass by.

“Ok.”

“If your Lord’s mages are weak, and you get no ‘fancy mages’ to visit, than who do
you
think sunk those boats?  As you said…they didn’t sink in a storm.”

Orin just looked at Niku, narrowing his eyes.  “Hell if I know.  Maybe
you
did.”  He gave Niku the faintest smile and wrapped himself tighter in his sheepskin against the cold outside, not even bothering to turn around.

Niku sat back down by the fire and took a healthy swig of his honey-wine.  “Well, we’ve learned something tonight.”

“And what is that?” asked Rhee.

“Given what we saw and what we just heard, I’m convinced there is a True Cleric here.  Even a novice mage could levitate enough of the boats to stir the water, and most could raise the ships.  Certainly a True Mage could, and he said the True Mages failed.”

“Why does that mean there’s a True Cleric here?”

Niku finished his wine, and called for water to clear his head.  “Because this Lord Bingham has all the incentive in Tenebrae to keep the port active, not plugged.  The city won’t survive a winter if the port doesn’t re-open.  Don’t you see?  It must either be a very powerful Archmage, or a True Cleric, which is
holding
those ships down against the best efforts of this Lord Bingham’s mages to get it reopened.  Given the bodies we saw crawling out of the water, plus the message from the Elf that our Queen spoke with, and I think it’s only reasonable to conclude we’re dealing with a True Cleric, and I think I know what he or she is doing.”

Rhee started nodding slowly, her eyes widening.  “This unholy priest is building an army.”

“An undead army.”  Niku smelled the water and tasted it.  He wrinkled his nose.  “Come.  Let us head back to our rooms…we have much to discuss if we’re going to figure out how to capture this rogue Cleric before everyone in Ilbindale ends up enlisted against their will.”

~Malenec~

The disappearing people were now a topic throughout the city, and Malenec knew he would need to guard the exits.  In the last four nights, he had raised more tha
n 1100 men, women, and children, bringing his army to over 1300 in total counting the sailors.  While he had secretly hoped for closer to two thousand, he couldn’t risk it.  Already some families were starting to slip out at night of the city on horseback.  He sent a handful of sentinels to chase them down.  They never tired, never rested, and could run forever…so what his sentinels lacked in top speed, they more than made up for it with stamina.  Besides—the few families that left were leaving stealthily, not speedily.  Probably headed for Shu-Tybor, the nearest city. 
If they knew what lurked there, they might prefer service in my army.
  He smiled and dispatched a handful to chase them all down and carry their corpses back to him. 
I’ll be shocked if they last two days.

But now the reality that he must barricade the city in was undeniable.  He broke his army into thirds, with three hundred warriors marching at dusk to the southern, eastern, and western gates of the city.  When people saw the wave of black approaching, most fled to their houses.  It did not take Lord Bingham to dispatch a small battery of knights to the gates, along with a True Mage riding from the rear.

If he had dispatched all three at the same time, the noble might have punched through.  As it was, he was unprepared and each group of knights attacked at slightly different times.  Malenec looked at the approaching knights and knew that the True Mage would be the greatest threat.  He needed to strike before the mage figured out what they were fighting.

“My god, I pray that lightning announce
s your return to Tenebrae, with a bolt that strikes at the heart of this Mage who would defy your plans!”

A sudden dark cloud formed over the approaching knights on the eastern front, and lightening began to crackle in the otherwise clear, twilight sky.  Rolling thunder that sounded almost like laughter began to echo off the buildings, and the mounts began to lose their heads, causing the knights to break formation and some to dismount.  A single bolt of yellow lighting struck a red-cloaked figure in the distance, riding behind the knights.  The body collapsed and fell to the ground, with knights flying off their horses to take a look.

This same prayer was repeated twice more, once at the southern gates, and a third time at the western edge of the city.  Three bolts, three dead True Mages.  A fourth True Mage also appeared at the western edge of the city, surrounded by a small group of mounted warriors.  Again Malenec called on his lightning, and once again the True Mage flew off the horse where he was quickly tended to by the four warriors around him. 
Another threat removed.
  Malenec travelled effortlessly across the city, his faith teleporting him faster than any spell could.

It did not take long for the knights to attack, but they did not know what they were fighting.  None thought about raising a torch toward the army—their focus was on spears, lances, and
long swords.  Limbs were cut off and reattached.  Spears went through them like skewers on raw meat, and all they did was come closer to the hand that wielded it.  Scratches, biting, spitting—the undead warriors kept coming, and when the first knights died and were raised right there on the city gates in front of their companions, it did not take long for even the bravest knights to fall back.  Cries of “Protect the Lord!”, “To Bingham!”, and “Save the People!” could be heard as several knights fell back toward the city center, where Lord Bingham was likely housed.

Malenec counted an additional seventy-five undead knights across the three skirmishes.  His prayer rituals complete, he stood staring at the newest members of his army, their black armor reflecting the rich light of the new moon. 
These black knights are a fearsome thing, for sure.
  He split them up, placed them in front as their armor might hold up to fire better than others, and he walked straight into the city, still before midnight, not even bothering to conceal his movements any longer.  He was flanked by two of his undead servants.

Believing his force would hold people in, he didn’t worry about a panic any longer.  The city was awakened by the knights and the fighting.  He could be much more systematic now, moving east to west in rows throughout the city.  He entered every building by softening the walls, and began moving room to room, laying eyes on people and praying for their immobilization.  House-by-house, even the taverns and pubs, shops and farms, storage and forge, sweeping streets and even Lord Bingham’s dwelling—all fell to his undead warriors, and all were raised moments later.  He lost count after two thousand; the killing had become incredibly proficient.

This continued for over two weeks, until now there were more undead than alive in Ilbindale.  His army of undead warriors had swelled to over 25,000, most of whom were situated like statues at the various exits.  Some patrolled the surrounding forests, and others accompanied Malenec on his nightly reapings.

Somewhat paradoxically, however, his prayers began to suffer late into the wee hours of the morning after weeks of success.  The more routine they became, the less ‘faith’ he exerted, and consequently the results began to suffer.  Malenec
expected
the prayers to be answered, having seen his god working on his behalf all week.  But as he had more success, his concentration began to slip; he became less humble, less awestruck.  He was, after all, Malenec, a
True
Cleric of Kuth-Cergor.  As a mage must ‘pour’ their energy into a spell, so, too, must a cleric ‘pour’ their faith into a prayer.  The greater the faith, the stronger the result, as it is with magic.  And Malenec simply wasn’t trying as hard.  One woman freed herself from his immobilization prayer and ran out of the house screaming before she could be scratched.  He dispatched one of his warriors to chase her.

“This shall be our last home tonight, Genevieve.  I grow tired.”  It even took a second prayer to soften the wall of this house, his first one being unsuccessful as he walked face first into the wood and stone.  He prayed more fervently.

“Kuth-Cergor, I demand you remove this wall for me!  I am your True Cleric, Malenec, and it is for
your
army that I reach into these homes tonight.  You have denied me none yet; do not start now.  Make of this wall an illusion and let me pass!”

Carefully pushing his hand through the wall, he and his
servants stumbled into the small home, which was dimly lit by a single low-burning candle at that hour.

“So this is the monster that is sucking the life out of Ilbindale
,” commented an aging True Mage with grey hair as he sent a fireball toward the zombies surrounding their master while Malenec was caught off guard by the burst of flame.  “I don’t know what devil this man prays to, but see that even his silent prayers are silenced.”

A large female warrior struck him on the back of the head from behind with the flat of her sword, and the soft light of the tiny candle began to flicker and dim as Malenec crumpled to the floor.  The last thing he thought he saw was the oddly familiar crest on a nearby breastplate of an enormous eagle, wings spread over a five-peaked mountain.

Chapter 14:  Threats and Prophecy

~Marik~

Marik sat quietly near the woods,
wrapped in his heavy cloak to keep out the cold.  He looked back over his shoulder to the guest house, where his students (if he could even call them that any longer) were preparing to head northeast, across Lake Calm toward Paragatha.  He wanted to make sure nobody was close by, no prying eyes as he cast his spell to open a line of communication.  Not with Serenity.  He could care less at this point about the fate of his school, which had only been an elaborate front anyhow.  He needed to speak with Xaro.  Soon the shimmering image of his Master materialized in front of him.

“Master,” he began.  “The prophe
cy has been read to Magi.  As you foresaw, he is going to climb the Staircase.”  He paused and narrowed his eyes slightly.  “However, the Elf revealed something that neither of us has foreseen.  Apparently, Magi’s father is alive, and Magi is determined to travel to Paragatha, to find him.”

Xaro’s image seemed to flicker at the news.  “What did you say?”  He asked, disturbed.

“I said that Magi has set his mind to go to Paragatha to find the father who apparently
lived
through that fire.  But that is not the worst of it…he is pulling away from my influence, Master.  I can tell,” Marik said plainly.

“Paragatha?  To meet his
father, who lives?  You know we cannot allow that to happen.”  Xaro stated.

“No.  We cannot,” agreed Marik, adding “but to tell you the truth
—”

Xaro cut him off.  “You must accompany him and see that his
father is unavailable to him.  If he learns the truth, it would sever whatever tether you still have on the young man.  He cannot find out the truth—for your sake, I would do my utmost to see that he doesn’t.”  Xaro raised a shadowy arm and pointed directly at Marik.

“For
my
sake?  What are you implying? 
Master,”
Marik began, slowly starting to feel his blood pressure rise.   “On your orders did I take that boy.  You were the one who saw his potential.  You asked me to raise him.  You decided I should run that silly school.  For 20 years I’ve been serving, while you decided to play with swords and bathe in holy water.  You commanded that the ancient scroll be read to him, and now my relationship strains as he grows increasingly focused on himself.  This may shock you, but I have the
least
to lose with his discovery of the truth, since I am already losing whatever relationship I had with the boy.  It is
you
and your cause that stand the most to lose.  Consider that. 
Master.
”  He nearly spit out the last word.

The image of Xaro laughed.  “My sentimental Marik
—how touching.  I never knew you could be so caring.  You actually feel for this boy.”  He allowed his laughter to hang in the air a bit.  “Let me correct a few things for you, just so we’re clear.  The boy is destined to be a True Mage, and a follower of Kuth-Cergor at that.  When I say you have the most to lose, don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not talking about your relationship with Magi.  I’m talking about your relationship with
me
, specifically your place on my council.  The boy’s anger will rest squarely on you—he doesn’t know me.  Yet.  And by the time he does, he will serve me as well.  The only question is how and when, so be mindful of your impertinence.  You know that I expect two things from each person who serves on my council:  fierce loyalty, and that they be the best in their Guild.  After this conversation, I’m not sure we can say you meet either standard.  Perhaps, after Magi’s eyes get whitened, I should get closer to him, if you find your influence on the young man waning.  Do we now have a complete understanding of each other, Marik?”  The edges of Xaro’s mouth just slightly curled, into a smile or a sneer Marik could not tell.

“Oh, we understand one another
perfectly. 
Master.
”  Marik ended the spell and headed back to the guest house to prepare to leave with Kyle and Magi.

~Veronica~

A soft glow illuminated the monstrous cavern
deep within the bowels of the Crystal Mountains.  There was a fairly wide stone bridge stretching across the chasm, which looked to be about 200 feet long and 10 feet wide.  About every 20 feet or so was an archway with elaborate carvings and runes on both sides, crawling up the stone and glowing.  How far down the chasm dropped was anyone’s guess—the light couldn’t even begin to penetrate the bottom.  It was an engineering marvel to see this heavy, long, wide, and even ornate stone bridge that spanned the gap with nothing connecting it except both ends.  But that did not command Veronica’s attention.

Standing in front of the bridge was an odd
-looking dwarf, short as usual and as stocky as they come.  But he was bald and perhaps more surprisingly, clean-shaven, with the trademark white eyes of a True Mage. 
First a half-dwarf, now a Dwarven mage.  Next I’ll find a sober Dwarf. 
Without knowing what to expect, Veronica kept her distance and simply said, “It appears I am at a disadvantage.  How did you come to expect me?”

“That is neither here nor there.  I am the keeper of the bridge through the mines, and I always collect my toll.”

“I see.  So when the slaves came through here—”

“I take 1/10
th
.  A man cannot live on rocks and spiders and bats alone…not even a Dwarf.”  He smiled wickedly.  “You, unfortunately, do not have a tenth to give.”

“A tenth of what?” Veronica asked, trying to sound naïve.

“Your life, my dear.  When the slave parties traversed this path, a hundred or more could be led through the mountains in 5 or 6 days.  But you must cross this bridge, and no one may cross without my magic, for it sustains this beautiful bridge.  Just who do you think built it?  Some call me the Mystic under the Mountain.  Others call me a prophet-troll, which is ridiculous—do I look like a Troll?  At any rate, you may simply call me Zender.”  He cocked his head, grabbed his tattered cloak, and bowed slightly.  “One out of every ten must stay with me.  Alas, you do not have nine friends with you, so I’m afraid you will not leave.  Unless…” he paused.

I’ll bite. 
“Unless what, Zender?”  Veronica asked.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen down here in ages
—oh yes, I see through your pitiful disguise—so I am inclined to give you a sporting chance.  You see, I am a prophet, but I am also a liar.”  He flashed that same wicked grin.  “So I shall do this:  I will provide you with three prophecies.  Two shall be false; only one will be true.  If you can guess which one is true, I shall let you pass.  Guess wrong, and I will have to kill you, for each life I take grants me the number of years left on that life, which is how I’ve lasted hundreds of years.  And you look
very
young.”  Zender, the Dwarven Mystic under the Mountain, rubbed his hands together greedily.  “Are we agreed?”

Veronica wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this impediment.  She wasn’t quite frightened, but direct confrontation was not her specialty.  Perhaps this game would afford her a diversion, or at least some time to think of one.  “Yes, Zender.  Your terms are most gracious,” she said with a wicked smile of her own and a slight nod.

“Excellent!  For I’ve seen so much about your future that is so
interesting. 
So let us begin, shall we?

“
Prophecy #1:  A Dark Mage will put an end to your murderous ways.

“
Prophecy #2:  You will put an end to the greatest mage of our time.

“
Prophecy #3:  God will favor you with a gift beyond measure.

“Now then, as I said, two are false
, but one will come to pass.  Guess which it is, and I shall let you go in peace.  You have but one guess, however, so choose carefully, young Assassin.”

Veronica thought about each.  A Dark Mage will kill her
—that could be Zender himself.  If that was true and she guessed the others, both of which are false, then perhaps he
would
kill her and steal the rest of her years, fulfilling the prophecy.

Therefore,
she reasoned,
if I guess Prophecy 1 and am wrong, perhaps if he kills me I will be favored in the afterlife by Kuth-Cergor for serving his servant Xaro.  That would make Prophecy 3 true.  That was also plausible.  And if I am right and Prophecy 1 is true, I shall pass this bridge… But then I will need to watch my back with Dark Mages, something I do already.  Take for instance Xaro and his pet, Marik.  I could handle Marik, and frankly, fighting Xaro would be an exquisite challenge…

She went back and forth in her mind for another
five minutes or five hours; time had very little meaning deep below the mountains.  In the end she decided.  “Zender.  I am ready to choose.  Prophecy #1 is the true reading.”

“Ah, you guess well!  But alas, you do not guess right.”  The dwarf began to almost cackle.  “
Prophecy 1 is not right, and now I shall have my price.”  He slid his hand inside his sleeve.

Veronica was a little quicker, however.  A small burst of flame exploded between Zender
and her.  An old Assassin’s trick—a tiny pinch of powder concealed in her own sleeve was all it took to create a distraction as she flung it into her torch.  Smoke filled the cavern and she moved with the reflexes that had made her the Guild’s top murder-for-hire.  She buried her blade deep into the Dwarf’s back before the smoke even began to clear—he was awestruck with the speed at which she moved.  His eyes looked like perfect little white circles.   He pitched forward, and Veronica withdrew her knife and held it to the dwarf’s throat.

“Which
prophecy is true, dwarf, and I will end this quick for you.”  She didn’t even raise her voice.

The dwarf was gurgling blood and smiling.  “Young fool
…you will never cross the bridge now…”

“Which
prophecy was true?” she repeated calmly.

“Proph…prophe
cy….number….” and then he died.

“Perhaps Prophe
cy 2 has already come true,” she whispered into his ear, secretly hoping the corpse would confirm it for her.  Silence.  Veronica slit his throat out of habit and sat down to clean her knife, waiting for the rest of the smoke to clear, plotting her next move.

~Kari~

“This is so refreshing!”  Kari said as she caught herself almost chugging the pine-scented water that the Ol’ Shakoor had provided her.  She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was from the hike.

Elsa laughed, her timeless face reflecting warmth and peace.  Except her eyes; those were almost as unnerving as any True Mage’s, with their striking gold flecks.  But she clearly wanted Kari to relax and feel at home.

And what an interesting home it was.  Marik and the
Rangers he sometimes hired referred to it as a ‘hut,’ but Kari thought that was an understatement.  Phillip, their village Elder, could not have lived more splendidly.  Beautiful art, ornate shelves with books and vials and all sorts of instruments dotted the interior, but not in a cluttered way.  The soft chairs and fragrant smells, with windows everywhere, gave the ‘hut’ a very open feeling.  But more than anything it didn’t seem
poor.
  It smelled fresh, and in contrast to Brigg—almost lavish. 
Scented water!
  From where she was sitting, Kari could see the enormous icicles forming as the water continued to freeze in various spots as it tumbled down Kraggentop
. 
Cold sunshine would hit that ice and split into a dozen rainbows, splashing color everywhere.  She continued to look around in amazement, sipping her water—more gently now—feeling more convinced than ever that she had to strike out from Brigg.  And soon.

“And so, my young illusionist, shall we begin?  Simply cast a spell of your choosing, and I will
prophesize off the fingerprints on your magic.”  She smiled, and her eyes sparkled—nearly matching the honey color of her hair.

That raised a question with Kari.  “Mistress Elsa,” she began, “How did you come to look like that?  Why aren’t
your eyes white, like other True Mages?”

The Ol’ Shakoor considered the question.  “An observant young lady, you are.  It is simple really.  Vanity.  I love the color of my eyes, so I choose to keep them.  But that comes with a price, of course.”

“What price?”  Kari was curious.

“There is always a price to be paid for getting what we want
, Kari.  There is always a sacrifice.  Nothing is freely given, especially for those of us with the power to glimpse and interpret the likely future.  But since you have asked…my case involves a need for me to stay neutral, despite my inclination to get involved in what I see.  I may keep my eyes if I constrain myself to simply reading prophesies.  Were I to try and involve myself in the outside affairs of men and women—to take my knowledge and use it to pursue my own goals or my own sense of righteousness—I would go blind.  As long as I keep my words true and do not try to, shall we say,
interfere
, I may keep my original eye color, which as you’ve noticed is quite unique, don’t you think?  So, you may decide for yourself whether my choice is a blessing or a curse:  to know what is coming and do nothing or to know what is coming and do something, knowing that in so doing you shall be blinded?