In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (51 page)

Magi curled his lip, got up and filled his father’s cup one final time, deep into the wee hours of the bitterly cold night.  He sat back down and looked at Tomas, and narrowed his eyes, rubbing the sleep away.

“Father,” he acknowledged for the first time, “What happened to my Mother?”

There was a long pause before Tomas
replied. “After I slipped the ring on your finger and concealed it, I handed you over to Marik and his Master, begging that they spare us.  He looked over at his Master, who had said nothing the entire time.  But he took you from him, and nodded to Marik before walking out the door.  That was it.  I screamed after him, I screamed I love you, I just…screamed.”  Tomas was shaking as his voice began to break.

“Marik dropped a hand, and the sword took off your mother’s head.  Marik paralyzed my feet in place.  ‘He is my son now.  Goodbye, Tomas.  May you meet your wife again this very night.’  And then he laughed.  A cruel laugh, while I cried and screamed.  I couldn’t concentrate, all I could see was red.  Red—and then blue.  As he left, he cast an everflame spell on the house, and the blue flames were uncontained, spreading up the walls, the roof.  We lived in an isolated plot of land, far away from the nearby village.  I’m sure they figured no one would come, and they were right.  No one did.”

“How did you live?”

“I knew a simple water spell to keep a cauldron full of water.  It was meant to keep folks from having to lug buckets from a well or a spring.  So I used it to spill and splash water everywhere.  Magical water against magical flames…they cancelled each other out.  Oh, I had some burns—you see them written all over my face—and the house eventually fell inward on itself, but I avoided the most direct hits.  After some time Marik’s spell ran out, and I was no longer paralyzed where I stood.”  He cleared his throat again.  “You should know that I recovered your mother’s body and gave her a proper burial.”       

“Now I understand why Marik was so shocked to learn you lived.  He must have thought you dead as well.  But why give me the ring, why not keep it for yourself and fight them?”

“They had a sword to your mother’s throat!  What could I do—throw rocks at them?  Besides, if you saw Marik’s Master, and the size of the sword he wore…I did not like my chances two-on-one, what with my wife’s life hanging by a thread.  No, the ring would serve you better, especially if they didn’t know it existed.  I hoped it would buy me time.”

“Time for what?  You never sought to recover me.”  Magi had his arms crossed against his chest.

“That is not true, son.  I decided to leave and climb the Staircase.  I knew only a True Mage would have a chance at recovering you.  It did not take long for me to quickly realize I was over-matched.  Third step.  My folly only cost me my eyesight.  Blind, without a way to earn a living, with no wife, no family, I descended.  I sunk into despair, Magi.  I had no idea where you were, and no way of travelling, certainly no way of getting you back.  I thought about seeking justice with the King, but what could they do?  Nobody knew where to look; I didn’t even have a name to give the crown.  Despair led to wine, and wine led to begging for alms.  It did not take long for my strength to deteriorate.  Within a few years I no longer had the ability to even hold the spell of concealment on your ring.  That was when I began to think about taking my own life—a thought I’ve had many times since.  The only reason I didn’t was the hope that somehow, someway, you might find your way back to me.  And you have!”   Tears were flowing from his milky eyes, following the scar lines that crisscrossed down both cheeks like snowmelt down a mountain.  “And you have…” he repeated.

Tomas bowed his head
, but didn’t bother to wipe his face.  “How many years has it been since my strength waned?  Ten, fifteen maybe?  I don’t know…my perspective on time is gone.  But that would have been the day it appeared on your finger.  So, if you wish to steal from me, spit on me, or kill your own father, you would have a cause.  As I said earlier, it is me who has much forgiveness to ask of you.  Whatever you wish from me, son, it is yours.  My life is complete knowing that you found me, that you know the truth about your father.”

Somewhere deep in the back of Magi’s memory
—it now seemed eons ago—he recalled Ragor shooting missiles into Tarsh at the end of the Tournament.  Now the whole thing seemed so contrived in light of these recent truths.  After a prolonged silence, he rubbed his forehead and said, “Old man, what do you have that I could possibly want?”

Tomas smiled sadly.  “Not much, I suspect.  When
they took you, I did give you a seedling that I wove a bit of magic into that I hope he planted.  I called it a Serenity Tree—it should have amplified your best qualities and given you peace.”

“He did
that, at least.  My Tree has been a favorite spot to study over the years.  But I’m afraid trees rooted in the ground half a continent away are not going to help me fulfill my own prophecy.”  Magi reached down to twirl his ring again before catching himself.

“Well, I don’t know your destiny, son
,” Tomas said. “But I may be able to leave you with one final gift.  On that table is my old spellbook.  In it you’ll find the spell to open the door to the Staircase.  I suspect you’ll have a greater chance at making it to the top than I ever did.”

~Veronica~

“
Silas said you wanted a word.  Who might you be, my dear?”  Strongiron looked across the table at Veronica, surrounded by six Men-at-Arms.  She saw all of them drinking…water.  Other knights stared at her, and they looked to be a few pints in, but Strongiron and his men were as steady as a plank and as direct as the point of his sword.

Veronica had the situation summed up in her mind in a fraction of second, lest an awkward pause create suspicion. 
She had already tried poisoning him, but he was having his food sampled.  Bottom line:  She could throw a hidden blade and likely kill the General here and now, but it would be her last contract.  The first rule of any Assassin is to honor your contract.  But the second rule is perhaps even more vital: live to sign another one.  Her initial instincts were right; this man was no fool, and was far too cautious to meet a stranger alone.  She smiled shyly and began the tedious process of building trust…

“My name is Sarah,” she lied.  “I have heard you are searching for someone.”

“Yes.  Some
ones
, actually.  I’ve made it no secret around town.”  Strongiron rubbed his clean-shaven cheeks, although the thick mustache he wore above his set lips and strong chin was eye-catching.  His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and was devoid of any grey.  But his most striking feature was his eyes.  He stared at her with deep blue—almost icy blue—eyes that were impossible to ignore. 
His most attractive feature,
Veronica mused. 
He is built like Xaro.

“If it is not too much of a burden, General, I should like to hear your story.  Why do you seek followers of an ancient God?” 
Men always love to hear themselves talk.

A hush fell over the table, including the lesser soldiers.  The rest of the common room also began to grow curious.  All eyes turned to the massive True Warrior, whose arms rippled when he lifted his water goblet. 
This man commands respect!

“Well, Miss Sarah.  That’s a right long tale.  But I’m happy to share
—would be good for the Warriors and Knights and patrons to hear as well.  Some have already—others, less so.  Why might you want to know?”  There was an honesty to his eyes that Veronica found intriguing.

“Well, General,” Veronica mimicked, “Perhaps we are seeking the same thing.”

Strongiron just looked at Veronica, then at Silas, who was sweating profusely, running off to the kitchen as one of his serving woman whispered in his ear.  The entire tavern had grown quiet—all talking had stopped and everyone was staring at this pale beauty bantering with their General.  Finally, he laughed.  “Perhaps.  One never knows, of course.”

He stood and raised his voice
to address the entire room
. 
“I see there is some interest in my purpose here within your wonderful city and this fine establishment.  Shall I speak up—or are you all just gawking at the spine of this young lady who had the mettle to ask me the same question that’s on all your minds?”  He gave Veronica a wink and laughed infectiously.  Soon the entire room was cheering him, hoisting glasses, calling for a tale.

As Strongiron settle
d the room down, with Silas ordering his staff to keep the ale flowing to each and every table, Veronica had just one thought on her mind:

T
he hook is in.

Chapter 18:  Opportunities Presented and Witheld

~Kyle~

As Kyle made the short journey south from Paragatha, he skirted the ridgeline of a hillside that dropped sharply into the bowl that formed Lake Calm.  From his vantage point atop the steep path, he kept one point in his frame of reference:  the Five Spires of the immense castle known as Rookwood.  Alone, weary, and hungry, he still kept a fair pace.  He had always been fit, and his journey from Brigg with his former Master and his former best friend had done nothing but make him more fit.  Lesser men would have passed away along the rocky path.  But Kyle had set his mind like flint and was determined to see the castle and beg his Queen for help.  He would work for a year to earn his passage back to Brigg. 
Why would I even go back?
  He would work for a year to earn his passage back to Fostler, to see his parents. 
And why would I go back there? 
He would work for a year to earn a hot meal and a warm bath. 
Foolishness, but headed in the right direction. 
He would work for a year to gain apprenticeship with one of her True Mages at court. 
Ahh…now that makes sense.

The conversation raged back and forth in his own mind as he planned his next move.  He kept coming back to the same thing:  he needed to learn more about this Staircase, where it was, how to get there, what it takes, how to prepare, etc.  Only a True Mage could offer him that.  And there was not likely to be a larger group of True Mages anywhere than in Queen Najalas’s court.  Surely one would take on an obedient, attentive apprentice?

This idea energized him and kept his spirits up—a not-so-easy task as the wind blew stiff and cold across the cliffs, bringing snow flurries.  But those five spires never faded from view, towering against the small mountain range, with peaks already blanketed in white.  The Rookwood was truly the most fantastic structure he had ever seen.  Kyle tightened his grip on his ragged cloak.

After a week of berries, roots, and the last of his supplies, he came to
the outer wall and presented himself to the guards.  “Your Queen is done meeting with petitioners this day.  Come back tomorrow, and early, and perhaps you will gain admittance.”

Frustrated but not surprised, Kyle nodded and walked away.  It was late in the afternoon, and
the bright sunshine mocked him by casting light everywhere, but no warmth.  Off to his right and some distance away from the outer wall were the tournament grounds.  A willowy lady was bending her bow with practiced ease, punching arrows through a target some distance away.  There was something oddly familiar about the woman’s profile, but Kyle couldn’t quite place it.

If Magi was here, he’d love this.  He used to love watching archers unleash their arrows.  Back then we would laugh and cry at the memory of Lionel.  Back then the world made sense
—Marik was a Master, and Magi was a friend.

Kyle shuddered from the cold and headed toward an inn. Though he had no money, he hoped he could use his magic to help clean the place in exchange for a meal and a bed.  Otherwise, at least he could probably find a stable
to sleep in.

H
e walked out of earshot right before Rebecca shouted, “Now, Phillip—go fetch those arrows out of the target…I think I’ll have another go at it!”

~Tarsh~

“I just don’t think you’re ready, Tarsh
.”  Serenity counseled.

Tarsh made no attempt to disguise his contempt. 
She tried to sound wise and thoughtful, but they were both acutely aware that she was quite young to be running a school.  She was barely five years older than Tarsh, and only about three years removed from her own climb.  He had known her when he was a young boy and her an adolescent…and he was never impressed.  Still—she had climbed and had her eyes whitened like all mages must if they are to be recognized.  A True Mage advances quite quickly, and he knew her talents and abilities far surpassed his own at this stage.  But that didn’t always translate into authority and respect.

She pushed her fingers through her red hair and sighed.  Tarsh just
scowled, seated across from her next to the fire in her quarters.  After an awkward silence, he said softly, “I don’t believe you.”  He wasn’t quite pouting, but he was defiant.

“I don’t care whether you believe me, Tarsh,” she snapped back.  “It is my decision.  You need to master a few more advanced spells.  Your
—”

“What I
need
to master is the spell that opens the Staircase.  I have been patient, Serenity.”  He pointedly refused to call her Master, or even Miss.  “But when you gave the spell to that over-sized punk—”

“So this is about Ragor.  I see…word travels fast.  You are jealous.”  She crossed her arms across her chest, staring at Tarsh.

“Jealous?  I am ready!  It is not jealousy that drives me, Serenity.  But I wonder what drives you?  Tell me, did he trade you his soap for access to the Staircase?  You can’t possibly think that he is more ready than the rest of us?”  He narrowed his eyes as he looked at his teacher, his face both pleading and incredulous at the same time.

Serenity cocked her head.  “How dare you accuse me of bribery!  You think you are ready, yet you lack even the most basic common sense, Tarsh.  With the gold Marik has left me to run the school, I could bathe every night if I so desired, let alone the scents I can create with the most basic of illusions.  At least if you are going to be thick enough to accuse me of
selling one of my students a spell, don’t insult me doubly that I would do so for soap.”

She sighed and stood up to walk over and sit down next to him.  “Tarsh,” she began.  “You are a gifted pupil, and I think you are close.  But understand this:  for some, the Staircase is a death sentence.  For many, it is an everlasting heartache.  Teaching that spell is not something I do lightly.  I have no idea what your prophecy is, but you continue to progress and act as a man unafraid to Climb.  And you will, Tarsh.  Why do you continue to compare yourself to Ragor?  Is it a hold-over from Marik’s Tournament?  Personally I find his annual contest barbaric, but the villagers and most students seem to enjoy it.  But regardless—let it go, Tarsh.  Just let it go.”

“As I said, you misunderstand my motivation.  I’m not chasing Ragor, but I don’t view him as a superior mage, either.”

“He is ready; he has command of more spells.”

“He is not as powerful.”

“As I said, he is ready, and I will rely on my own
judgment on this matter, considering I’m the only mage in the entire village that’s even successfully Climbed.”  She stood up from the couch and walked over to pour herself a lightly colored wine from a beautiful glass vase.

“Very well, Serenity.  I will continue with my studies.  Good evening.” 
Tarsh stood and left her quarters, slamming the door behind him a little harder than he intended.  He had heard this for the last thirty minutes, and was not interested in hearing it any longer.  She would not teach him the spell that granted access to the fabled Staircase.  And every day that passed was another delay in him becoming a True Mage.  Until he reached that point, he would never be capable of teleporting.  And if he was unable to teleport, he might never reach Kari to tell her…well, to talk to her again.

~Kari~

“Send her in,” Belara Kassar said from the next room.

Kari Quinlan entered the private chambers of the True Mage.  Her chamber was finely decorated, with brightly colored glass vases on several shelves.  One wall was covered with an enormous tapestry depicting two men, one in blue, the other in white, fighting a terrible-looking serpent.  A pleasant smell of roses, vanilla, and other spices filled the room as Belara sat in front of her fireplace, warming herself next to the blue
everflame. 
Though it was late, she was still dressed in her trademark cape and cowl, this one black against her olive skin and in stark contrast to her pure-white eyes.   “You asked to see me, Mistress?”

“I did.  Call me Lady Belara.  Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked, pouring herself a goblet of mead from a nearby pitcher.

“Thank you, Mis—Lady Belara.”  Kari blushed a bit and stood up to get the pitcher, feeling awkward that she should be served by such an accomplished mage.

“Relax, child.  I am served and flattered all day by those at court, save the Queen.  Sit down.  My arm won’t break lifting a pitcher.  She handed Kari a glass.  “I bet you’re wondering why I summoned you.”  She took a sip.  Though she looked only a few years older than her current teacher, Serenity, Belara conveyed a sense of power and mystique that belied her youth.

“Yes, indeed I am.”  She swirled the honey-colored liquid in her glass and smelled it. 
Strong.
  She gingerly took a sip herself, more out of politeness than thirst.

“I understand you have studied illusions.  It is a branch of magic that I myself have studied extensively.  But I bet you knew that.”  She gave Kari a half smile.

“I guessed, Lady Belara.  You have created a wonderful scent for yourself.  I have only been here a few days, and I can tell you that everyone recognizes it.”

“Yes, I know.”  She grinned wickedly at Kari as if they were sharing a juicy secret.  “But enough about me.  I wish to know why you would turn your back on your gift to set out on this voyage.  Do you know how many would die to have your magical talent?  It seems a waste to put that aside to chase fables and myths.”

Kari thought carefully before answering.  “You do not believe in the One True God?”

“I believe in many gods.  I believe in our magical talent.  I believe that strength wins over weakness.”  She stood up and walked over to the large tapestry, smoothing over one of the men in the battle scene.  “And yes…I do believe at one time there was a God some called Dymetra.  I know that the greatest Archmage of our Guild, Quixatalor, believed in Her, too.”

“Isn’t that good enough for you?” Kari asked.  Her cheeks were beginning to feel flush from the mead.

Belara laughed loudly.  “Good enough for me?  Child, just because a mage who lived hundreds of years ago believed something, what does that have to do with me?  But you have yet to answer my question.  Why in truth would you give this life up?  Why not stay here and train with me?  I will gladly take you in and help you prepare for the Staircase.  The Art of Illusion is such a powerful track, Kari.  The greatest mages who reach the pinnacle of our craft can not only shape the five senses—they can create
feelings
and manipulate
thoughts
in the minds of others!  A single Master Illusionist can topple entire kingdoms, Kari.  We can interpret dreams.  We can
create
dreams.  Endless bliss or endless torment is ours to command, all within the prison of one’s own mind.

“I have heard that the ancient True Clerics were powerful.  I do not mean to dismiss them, but I cannot fathom a power greater than what I’ve described.  I can help you, Kari.  Whatever your prophecy said, you know it’s only
one
path out of any number of possibilities that you can take.  Furthermore, you also must know that it’s meant to serve as a warning against the wrong path, not as a guide post for the right one.  Will you consider staying?”

Kari was torn.  She looked at the black hood that fit tight to Belara’s head, the triangular peak forming a point just above her white eyes in the middle of her forehead.  She stared at those eyes and saw the blue flames from her fireplace reflecting off them.  “I don’t know what to say, Lady Belara. Your offer is most gracious.”

“Then say nothing for now.  Take the next few weeks while Niku prepares for the trip and join me in court while I serve our Queen.  Let me introduce you to others, and let me teach you some advanced spells that I believe you will enjoy learning.  In the end, you may still choose to leave.  Then again…perhaps you will reconsider when you get to learn the ways of Rookwood better…and the ways of an illusionist.  I know the Queen is looking forward to sending you and your friends, but really, Niku and his team will be more than sufficient.  If there are relics or remnants to be found, he will find them.”

“Thank you, Lady Belara.  Tomorrow I will join you at first light!”  She finished her mead and went to leave.

“And Kari…I would stick to one scent.  Make it your trademark.  Personally, I think the evergreen and hibiscus suits you best.”  She smiled fondly at Kari, nodding slightly as she, too, finished her wine.

~Malenec~

Malenec had made his preparations.  His face and body completely healed of all blemishes, he stood on the bow of one of the ships he had raised from the bottom of the harbor and renamed
Godsail
.  His undead army, now 30,000 in number, had repaired the hole he’d made to originally sink it.  Fortified with enough food for dozens of people, he alone needed food and air and water to live.  In the end, he decided to kill even his servants, raising them as zombies as well, so that it was just him and his god.