In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (55 page)

Dismayed, he tried the simple spell again.  Nothing, and the last of the fire blinked out.  Another howl came, and Magi made out the shape of a large, grey wolf in the distance slowly padding toward him.  He cast a glow ball, but there was no magic.  Soon the night was pierced only by the light of a sliver moon and two yellow eyes shining in the dark, bobbing up and
down, coming closer.  He looked behind him…and saw the outline of a door. 
The way back down.

“No!” he yelled.  The lone wolf just howled again, as if mocking him.  His eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could now see that the wolf was at least half his size.  Frantically, Magi tried to cast a shield spell…but again felt no magic pour from him.

And then the wolf charged.

Tired as he was, Magi was bowled over as the wolf leaped into his chest.  He landed on his back, with the wolf’s claws raking his chest while Magi struggled to hold the snapping jaws away from his throat.  With a mighty struggle he rolled over and pushed the powerful animal off him.  He had gashes down the front of his body, and was bleeding from the painful muscle tears.  He grabbed his weapon of last resort, his dagger, and crouched low, ignoring the stiffness and pain in his knees.

The wolf feinted and padded around him, trying to catch him from behind.  Magi spun around as fast as he could, but his reflexes had been dulled to the point of uselessness after climbing upward for fifteen to twenty hours, or more.  The wolf was too fast, and sunk its teeth into the back of his thigh, ripping into his upper leg to try and pull him down.

“Ahhh!” he screamed.  Twisting around, he thrust his dagger into the wolf’s side.  It bit deep and the wolf yelped, but it was not a killing strike.  The wolf released his leg from its jaws, but Magi’s dagger was ripped out of his hand when the wolf jerked away.

My magic.  I must have my magic!

He knew he was not “empty.”  But something was terribly wrong. 
Or maybe this test is for me to prove my worth without the aid of magic?  Am I to be humbled?  Think!

He did not have long to think.  He was bleeding heavily, and could no longer stand.  Growling and enraged, the wounded wolf ran at him again.  Magi covered his face with
his arm, and the wolf bit into his forearm with crushing force, as if it were trying to chew his arm clean off.

As he pushed on the snout and tried to gouge the eyes of the wolf with one hand, he saw his ring sparkle on his other the hand—the one attached to the arm that was locked in the animal’s jaws.  His ring.  Karwin’s ring.  A ring of Magical Protection.  The one that was stolen.

Retrieving this ring was far too easy.  That wasn’t the test.

He managed to pull the ring off his finger and let it drop on the bloody dirt.  He then called forth a spell to electrify his hands, and felt the familiar sensation of time slowing around him as his senses became heightened.  He could smell the rotten breath from the wolf, but no other life stirred
—not even a winter moth.  He heard only the wolf, smelled only the wolf, but felt the pain of teeth grinding on the nerves in his arm.  The magic burst from his hands, and the electricity surged through his fingers and into the grey beast.

It didn’t even squeal for more than a fraction of a moment.  The power of the juice that he called forth was so strong that the wolf charred instantly, and fell over stiffly, its fur smoldering.  The wolf was dead, killed easily by a simple spell expertly cast.

Magi did not waste time lying there, he set about casting what healing spells he knew.  He moved as fast as he could while his attention was still sharp from the battle lust through which he had just endured.  Soon he would keel over from loss of blood, lack of water, and simple exhaustion.  His chest wounds were the easiest to address.  Healing the back of his thigh was much more difficult, but he managed to stop the bleeding and get his leg to at least bear his weight.  For now he could get his arm to stop bleeding, but it was a mangled mess that hurt to move.  He limped over to the pile of dead gypsies and found some singed cloth that he made into a makeshift sling.

He walked over to where he had dropped the ring and picked it up.  Screaming, he flung it as far as he could away
from him, and fell to his knees.  Looking up, he saw the faint outline of a door behind the wolf.  Not the way back down.  The way forward.  He turned his head the other direction, and saw an identical door leading back the way he had come.

Magi crawled forward toward the first door. 
I…will be…a True Mage.

~Kyle~

One good thing came out of Kyle’s meeting with Ronbar: they both agreed that Lady Velvet was a slob who wouldn’t know a decent pint from a mug of horse urine.  It did not take long for Kyle and Ronbar to hit it off, and after a few glasses of “the good stuff
,” Kyle had a free night’s rest courtesy of the Miller.

And he didn’t even need to resort to hypnosis or magical tricks
—something that Kyle was particularly sensitive about after nearly ending up as a unicorn in Fostler.

Refreshed, he was excited to
set out for Rookwood the next morning to see his Queen for the first time.

~Queen Najalas~

Jonathon st
ood next to the Queen; it would be a busy morning of updates and petitions.  The Queen looked as plain as ever, though her dress was regal enough.  Her eyes and mind were always sharp, he knew.

“Lord of the Elves, Keeper of Filestelas, Defender of the South, and Friend of Rookwood
—His Lordship, Chief Chocktaw!” he announced to great fanfare.  Technically, the Elves fell under the “rule” of Rookwood, but in reality it operated as a vast southern kingdom.  Throwing around a few titles to help placate the Elvish Lord was a small price for the security those woods provided.

The Elvish Lord
was dressed richly in a thick violet cape over brown travelling garb.  He wore his golden crown to court.  “My Queen,” he began.  “It pains me to say that our scouts have seen a disturbing thing.  Across the Sea of Sorrows, heading west, we have seen thousands of men and women, floating in the Sea.  They cannot be alive—nobody could swim out in that Sea without a boat.  But they are not dead, either.  They move.  They do more than float.  We tried to capture one that came close to one of our shores, but he sunk beneath the depths, with three arrows in his leg.  We saw him rejoin the throng out past our bow range, and he had not sunk.  He held the three arrows above his head as the waves crashed over and over him and these others.  He had pulled them out and was keeping afloat with one arm.  Surely these men, women, and even children should drown.  It is like a school of thousands and thousands of fish, floating dead and rotten atop the water.  Only when you get close enough, you see that the fish are not dead—they only smell dead.”

The audience chamber began to mu
rmur, and it took a moment for Jonathon to restore order.  Chief Chocktaw continued.  “But that is not the most fearsome thing our scouts saw.  My Queen, we saw a ship floating amidst these creatures.  When we fired upon them, shortly thereafter the ground began to shake, and the entire face of the cliff crumbled into the sea!  I lost twenty-seven Elves in that quake.  The three that returned tell of a voice from the sea, and a dark-robed man aboard the ship.  Our Elvish eyes see far and true; I do not doubt their story.  I don’t know what this means, Queen Najalas, or how this is connected with anything.  But I felt that you should know.”

The Queen nodded.  “Thank you, my friend.  I do indeed know what you saw.  It can only mean that a great foe has decided to move his undead army across the
sea.  How fast were they moving?”

The Elf Lord shook his head.  “Fast, my Queen.”

“Could we catch them from behind, launching flaming arrows or raining firebolts from the sky with our Mages?” she asked.

Chief Chocktaw
sighed.  “You would need the fastest boat in your fleet, and even then it would be folly.  I doubt you would catch them for weeks, and this time of year, cutting across the southern edge of the Whirlpool—you would be throwing men and ships away, I fear.”  He shook his head.  “They move like a sheen of oil across the vast sea, killing everything they touch.”

“Very well.  Thank you, my Lord.  My council shall weigh our options.  Please stay
as my honored guest for a few days, in the event that we need further help and council from Filestalas.” The Queen turned to her Steward.  “Jonathon, who is next?”

“General Strongiron,”
Jonathon replied.

All eyes turned to see the charismatic
general bow low before addressing his monarch.  “My Queen,” he began.  “Allow me to present to you, the Lady Sarah.  She is a follower of our ancient God, the one True God Dymetra, recently re-discovered by us in this Dark World.  She comes to us seeking knowledge and help in her pursuit of wisdom.”  He turned to the lady next to him and smiled gallantly at her.

Veronica, clothed all in white from head to toe, looked to be made of porcelain.  She humbled herself with great piety in front of the Queen
, and lowered her white hood to reveal herself to the court. 
She is beautiful,
Queen Najalas thought. 
Such a peaceful-looking girl. 
“Arise,” she said.  “What do you wish, Lady Sarah?”

The Assassin s
ubdued her smirk before it showed, transforming it into an innocent smile.  “As your good General has said, I seek your help.  Books, guidance, a dwelling that I may use to pray and teach the faith to others.  I have no resources, my Queen.”

The Queen considered the request.  “I will do this and then some.  You will accompany my Head of Magic, Niku, who is leading an expedition deep into the heart of Urthrax.  In two days’ time, you will join others on a similar quest, and together
learn the mysteries of the True Clerics.  It is of critical importance that you come back to us with a level of faith that would impress even the great Windomere.”

Veronica had not expected this.  “Your Majesty
—” she started.  But before she could say another word, the Queen talked over her.

“Jonathon, who is next?”  She waved her hand, not dismissively, but it had the same
effect.

“Kyle Quinlan, a young mage and petitioner.”  Jonathon boomed as Veronica was shown away to the back of the hall.

Kyle had barely stepped forward when the Queen heard his name shouted from behind her.  “KYLE!”

Queen Najalas turned around and saw Kari leave Belara’s side and
run toward this new petitioner, arms outstretched, as if hugging was a competitive sport.

~Magi~

The door
that had appeared behind the wolf was framed out of nothingness, just as the door at the bottom of the Staircase had been.  Magi approached cautiously.  He had never been so exhausted—physically and especially magically—in his life.  He was nearly spent, and that was saying something.  The blood he had lost was also making him woozy.  He limped toward the door leading up.

My dagger. 
He took the dagger out and held it in his good arm, reaching for the door handle with the one that was wrapped in a sling.  He forced himself to call to mind the spells he thought he could use in a pinch:  missiles, a simple shield, light and darkness.  He thought he might be able to make himself invisible for awhile, but that was about all he had confidence in at the moment.  Slowly, he opened the door.

The room behind the door was fairly large, and rather ornate.  It looked almost like a throne room, with a modestly raised dais in the back.  Situated atop
it was a large chair, heavily jeweled and cushioned.  Bright lights shone from glowing orbs resting on silver plates anchored to the walls.  Standing on the far side of the room were three men, all facing Magi as he peered through the doorway.

Two of them w
ore tattered brown robes with matching cloaks.  One leaned heavily on a staff for support.  The other was dripping wet, and wheezing with every breath he took.  A trail of blood ran from the door to where the two of them were standing, both with their heads bowed.  The third wore a bright green tunic, comfortable trousers, and an odd-looking hat.  “Come in, Magi.  You’ve done well,” the man in green’s voice echoed around the room.

Magi entered
. The door closed behind him without a sound and disappeared, leaving nothing but a blank wall.  “Relax, young mage,” said the same man in a funny-looking hat.  “Be at ease for now.”

Magi found his voice.  “Who are you?”  He did not lower his
dagger yet.

The man in comfortable-looking trousers smiled, and there was a twinkle in his eye
—playful and mischievous at the same time.  “Now come—come.  Will you limp over and poke us with your little knife?  How will that promote our conversation?  And we have much to discuss.”

Magi already disliked this man.  “You seem to know a fair bit about me.  I’ll ask one more time
—who are you?”  He stealthily sheathed the dagger back against his wrist, hidden within the folds of his loose-fitting robes.

“Oh, I know a fair bit and more.”  He laughed lightly, as one might on a midsummer night without a care in the world.