In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (56 page)

Magi turned his attention to the men standing behind this queer fellow.  “And who are you?”

The first one
, bandaged and bleeding, said, “Krishnan.”

The second
one, tattered and dripping, said, “My name is none of your concern.”

Magi narrowed his eyes at both.  The odd-man, who appeared to be quite nimble, was shaking his head.  “Such a lack of trust.  Ah well.  It is a Dark World, after all.  Now boys, come stand here.  I can see there won’t be much small talk amongst this group.  I remember
back when we could relax, have some wine, get to know one another, enjoy some stories.  Now it’s all business.  Nobody takes time to reflect and savor the moment, know what I mean?”

Magi looked at the man in the green tunic as if he had just sprouted a second head.  “No, I’m sure we all have absolutely
no
idea what you mean.”

The man in the comfortable trousers sighed.  But he was smiling, and his eyes still twinkl
ed.  He swept the odd-looking hat off his head with dramatic flair and bowed low before looking up.  “I have many names in many different tongues.  Some call me Destiny, some Fortune’s Song.  But, I am a simple man, and I prefer the simplest moniker I am known by.  You may call me Fatum, or Fate, if you wish.  For that is what I am, and it is I who will bestow upon you the rank, privilege, and power that accompanies your new status as a True Mage.”

~Queen Najalas~

“So you wish to be an apprentice?” the Queen
asked.  “It is a stroke of Fate that we have great need for mages on the horizon—perhaps no more pressing a need than to accompany our would-be-Clerics on their quest for truth, faith, and knowledge of our Ancient God.  Do you believe in Fate, young mage?” Queen Najalas fixed Kyle with a patient stare.

“I don’t really know, my Queen
,” he replied, “I suppose it’s possible.  But I believe in the science of my Art.  I believe in making our own way in the world, and I believe that bad things can happen to good people and good things can happen to bad people.  I’m not sure what my sister is doing, but I’ll gladly accompany her anywhere you need, your Majesty.”

The Queen smiled.  She turned to Niku.  “Will you have room to see this young mage accompanies you, his sister Kari, and Miss Sarah to Urthrax in two days?”

Kyle looked at Niku, somewhat hopefully.  The old mage radiated power and knowledge.  He was pale, with grey hair and a neatly trimmed goatee speckled heavily with grey.  His eyes were kind, but also cunning.  Kyle thought he must surely be at least 50 or older—a bit long in the tooth for this type of trip.  Most men in his home village of Fostler didn’t live much past 60.

Kyle glanced at his sister, expecting her to be beaming.  Instead she looked anxious, her legs crossed, nervously rubbing her hands while she looked at another True Mage close to the Queen, a lady wearing a brilliant red-orange hooded cloak, like a phoenix, that culminated at a point tight against her forehead. 
What’s on my sister’s mind?

Niku turned to his Queen.  “Peter tells me we are on track to leave, and taking a few more with us should not be a problem.  I’ll see that the proper pr
eparations are made.”

“And Niku,” the Queen continued, “will you apprentice this young man?  I
do
believe in Fate, and I cannot imagine his presence here is random.  I would like you to take him under your wing.”

Niku bowed his head slightly, inadvertently shuffl
ing his feet.  “My Queen—there are so many worthy True Mages, I’m taking one such with me on this journey.  Men with time to properly devote—”

“Excellent.  I’m glad that is settled.  Thank you
, Niku,” the Queen said loudly, interrupting her head of Magic.  “I trust you will find Kyle a worthy apprentice.”

Niku bowed his head more fully this time, and simply said, as much to himself as anyone else, “Consider it done.”

Kyle cleared his throat, somewhat loudly.  “My Queen?” he asked.  “If I may, I have one additional request.”

The Queen looked at Kyle shrewdly.  “Have I not granted you enough?  You are reunited with your sister on a meaningful quest and shall finish your training underneath the greatest mage alive on
Tenebrae.”

I hope you are right about that last part
.  Kyle smiled a bit sheepishly.  “I’m very grateful, but there is, ah, one small additional thing.  You see, I gave my word to the owner of
The Last Call
tavern, promising her a better shipment of ale in exchange for a kindness.  I don’t suppose you could, er, maybe ship a few barrels of your better stuff to her?  I would find a way to pay for them…”

Jonathon looked at Kyle as if baby rabbits were playing in his hair.  Niku raised one grey eyebrow curiously at his new apprentice.  Kari put her head in her hands.  But the Queen
smiled, then laughed.  Loudly.  Soon the entire audience chamber was laughing.  Kyle knew he had a foolish grin on his face, but he somehow couldn’t wipe the impish smile away.

Finally, the Queen mercifully silenced the commotion with a passing wave of her hand.  “That must have been some kindness.  Jonathon, see that three barrels of my finest ale are carted over to Lady Velvet.  We wouldn’t want her coming after our newest mage
for what she feels is her due, now would we?  And Kyle, I do hope that is all you need at the moment.  There are days I’d rather give you three lifetimes worth of training with Niku than a single mug of my finest drink…and this is fast becoming one of those days.”

~Magi~

After speaking
quietly to the other two mages, Fate waved his hand and made a door appear next to him. The two mages departed through it, and the door disappeared just as quickly.  This left Magi alone with the odd-looking man with the bright green tunic, loose pants, and a funny hat.

Fate walked over to h
im. “So.  Magi Blacksmooth.  I always knew you’d come.”  Fate smiled smugly at his joke.  “You did well with your tests, although I must admit, your handling of poor Ragor was a bit nasty, don’t you think?”

Magi was still sizing up this man.  He certainly didn’t feel like making small talk
and shrugged.  “He had it coming.  For many things.”

“Ah.  I am
so glad that you have elected yourself High Judge.  I feel so much safer now.”  Fate mockingly grabbed the hat off his head and wiped his brow before heading back to the dais and plopping back down on the ornate chair.

“Where is this place?”  Magi
asked, trying to change the subject.

“Why, this is my home.  Fate’s palace!  Do you like it?”  He asked.

“It’s a room, high up somewhere.  I suppose.  Can we just get on with this?”  Magi asked.

“Well, I’d say it’s a fair bit more than just ‘a room
,’ but seeing as you have someplace to be, I suppose we should move along.  After all, you did pass your tests.”  Fate tipped his hat slightly in approval.  “Though it was a bit touch-and-go at the end there.  Couldn’t resist trying on the ring, could you?”  He smiled, and his eyes darted down to look at his arm, still hanging in the sling.

“
What was that ring?  It certainly was no ring of magical protection!”  Magi scowled.

“Oh, but it was!  It was a ring of magical protection
from
you.  Quite clever, wouldn’t you say?”

Magi wasn’t sure whether it was his arm or Fate’s enthusiasm that was causing his head to pound, but he just
cocked his head and said, “Yes, those tests were…clever indeed.  I can’t imagine how lesser mages cope with such a series of trials.”

“Lesser mages would not have been pushed in the same way.  You see,
I
develop the tests, and I evaluate you in two ways:  against my own objective criteria, and against your own potential.  That is why it is a nearly impossible test.”  His eyes twinkled like a schoolboy sharing a wicked secret.

“What do you mean?”  Magi asked.

“It’s quite simple, actually.  Every mage must have a certain level of magical competence, a certain physical prowess, a certain amount of persistence, et cetera, et cetera.  You cannot reach the door at the top without these things.  But the true test of the Staircase is to pit you against your own potential.  Your weaknesses are tested to see how weak you really are.  Your strengths are tested to see how strong you really are.  In your case, I wanted to see how deep you would dig to tap into your considerable well of energy.  It was encouraging to see you not give up, Magi.  And furthermore…”  The lithe man in the bright green tunic seemed to bound from area to area.  He fetched two goblets and a jug of wine.  “I thought it prudent to show you that without your magic, even the mighty Magi Blacksmooth can be torn to shreds by a lone wolf.  Drink, mage?  You’ll find no better on Tenebrae.”

Magi did
not
think that lesson was prudent, but he nodded silently.  He was terribly thirsty. “So, you brought Ragor against me?  What would have happened had he won?”  He sipped the wine; it was as delicious as Fate had promised.

“Then I would be having this discussion with him, of course.  But I knew you’d win.” 
Returning to his chair, he winked across at Magi nonchalantly as he drained his goblet.

“What else do you know?”  Magi stretched a bit, trying to get comfortable
, but his thigh and arm were still throbbing.  The wine helped dull the pain, however.

“I know much, Magi.  As my name implies, I have a hand in connecting everyone together.  Your prophets
—the ones who study that arcane branch of your Art—they draw their information from me.  It is my visions that fill your heads and theirs when you spoke to Elsa and Pilanthas.  A kind word from me causes a good day for you.  A nasty word from me spills your milk, so to speak.”  He lounged on his throne in the most leisurely manner possible, draping a leg over the arm of his chair.

“So what can you tell me about this Staff I’m supposed to find?”  Magi leaned forward and offered Fate an arrogant little smile of his own.

Fate sat up.  “I know where it is.”  He cocked his head and returned Magi’s arrogant smile with great flair as he drained his goblet.  “Alas, that I can not tell you.”

Magi stood up.  “Can’t or
won’t?
  Just how powerful can you really be?”

Fate stood and walked over to Magi.  He waved his hand in front of Magi’s face, as he had done to Krishnan and the other nameless mage.  “You are now a True Mage, young Magi.”  He waved his hand again and the
same door reappeared that the other two had exited through.  “Go seek your answers.  You won’t find any more here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”  He stepped toward Fate, menacingly, before finding himself frozen in his tracks.

“You will find I am powerful enough, young mage.  But even I answer to Someone.”  With that, he disappeared.

Magi could move again
, and what’s more, he was completely healed.  As he walked over toward the door, he saw a small piece of polished glass on a table that he hadn’t noticed before.  Before leaving, he picked it up and stared at his face, seeing what he looked like with pure white eyes for the first time.

Part 3:  The Staff

Chapter 20:  Making Adjustments In a Dark World

~Xaro~

Xaro and Tar-Tan approached the city gates of Misk under a banner of truce, their army of slaves arrayed behind them.  Though many were hardly fit for battle, from a distance the numbers were imposing.

“As I have already said, they will not help us, Master.”  Tar-Tan grumbled.

“Then we shall take the city.  We certainly won’t lie about for weeks ‘laying siege.’  But perhaps I may have more success appealing to their sense of reason.”

Xaro cast a simple spell to amplify his voice, crushing an acorn beneath his heel.  “People of Misk” he boomed.  “Hear me.  Our battle is not with you, but we have need of supplies.  Parlay with us under our banner, and we may yet avoid blood.  You may be enriched from our coffers or you may be cut down by our steel, but we have need of your resources.  Send forth an emissary of Lord Bollinger, who I believe rules here, and we shall discuss our needs.  Silence will only bring our wrath.”

Xaro gazed up at the large stone doors that had been pulled closed once word spread of the swamp disease.  He saw archers aiming at him and his mammoth general from atop the city’s ramparts. 
Your arrows would fall helplessly to the ground against the shield spell around us, fools. 
Xaro smiled and waited patiently, slapping a mosquito dead against the back of his neck.  After five minutes, Tar-Tan turned to him, “Shall we execute your plan?”

Just then, an answering call came forth, “Our mages tried to aid you, and were murdered for their efforts.”

Tar-Tan narrowed his yellow eyes and tightened his grip on his immense sword.  Xaro put a hand on his shoulder.  He again projected his voice over the walls of the city.  “You sent an unskilled mage who fled rather than help us.  But we will not hold that against you—it is a difficult thing to behold.  You will find my request quite simple: water, and a supply of
pillafer
leaves that your mages will have in plenty, as they have multiple uses.  I will use them to treat our injured and sick.  You will not have to come out of your city if you do not wish to do so.”

There was no answer for another minute or two.  Two men stood atop the city gates holding an enormous bucket.  One of them shouted down, “Here is your water!  We shall keep our valuable
pillafer
leaves to ourselves.  Lord Bollinger bids you goodbye, mercenary!”  The two armed men overturned the bucket, dumping waste and refuse from the city down in front of Xaro and his general, splattering filth everywhere.

Xaro turned to Tar-Tan.  “Yes, I believe it is time to execute my plan.”  It was then that he felt the tingle of someone reaching out to contact him.

~Veronica~

Veronica sat in a guest room, trying to make sense of it all.  In the span of a few days, she had begun charming the General who was her next target, executed her contract on the mage’s father, set herself up to be a pious lady in search of an ancient God who she was already actively working against, and now had been assigned to a mission that would take her a continent away from the man she was supposed to kill.  She couldn’t help but laugh in the quiet of her lonely room.  Out of madness or frustration, she did not know.  She had not counted on the Queen sending her away so quickly, before she could further lure Strongiron away from the insufferable men who seemed to surround him every minute of the day.

Focus. 
Clearly, she had only two choices: Either make her attempt on Strongiron before they left tomorrow, or leave and figure out another angle to try and get him alone.

The thought of actually going to Urthrax never crossed her mind. 
Her plans would be delayed for months, a year, maybe more.  And her colleague (if she could use that term), Malenec, had already departed with his undead warriors.  She would not have anyone to help her off the Isle, and would need to find her own path back.  The delay and the risk were too great if she left on this journey.

It is time to speak with Xaro.  He will know how best to proceed. 
She dreaded the idea of contacting him.  She had simply to say the charmed word and he would cast the communication spell at his earliest convenience.  Of course Marik and Malenec did not need the assist, but this was the manner Trevor, Veronica, and Tar-Tan used to call out to Xaro across great distances.

Of all his lieutenants, this would be the first time she would be providing him with anything other than good news.  But it couldn’t be helped.  She needed his input, and time was most definitely of the essence.

Veronica stood up and began pacing.  She hated killing from a distance—it was an unsure business, at best.  Too many things could go wrong with a thrown dagger or blow darts or a tossed spear.  The biggest thing that goes wrong is that people could see you—you’re rarely alone.  If you’re alone, you wouldn’t strike from a distance.  At least not to Veronica’s way of thinking. 
I’ve always enjoyed the jobs in tight…mainly because I always know when those jobs are done.

But in this case, it probably couldn’t be helped.  The last day of petitions would be tomorrow, before they sail
ed.  If she was near the exit to the Great Hall and had a clear line of sight to the True Warrior, she would have one shot with a poison dart.  She would not even get to see whether it worked.  She would only have a few seconds before people started shouting and pointing at her.  A quick exit, perhaps some vanishing smoke to cause some confusion, and she would be running.  Though she wouldn’t be caught from behind, the trick was getting to the main entrance before they lowered the gates.  There were no ‘back doors’ she could use to escape.  One way in and one way out—it was part of Rookwood’s defenses.

If she made it out of the castle, she might lose the Rangers and Knights on the way to Lake Calm. 
Maybe.
  And if all else failed, and she was still dogged and trailed by them across the Lake, she was
sure
she could lose them in the mountains.  Nobody else alive knew her path through the mountains, save for maybe Barnabus the half-dwarf smitty, and he might as well be on the moon.  If she made it to the Crystal Mountains—
if
—she was convinced that she would live to take on another contract.

It was a close decision
—far more risky than she was accustomed to even contemplating.  She could be captured, or worse—she could fail to kill Strongiron.  She had
never
failed on a contract. 
Never.
  It was what made her the best.

Leaving to avoid the journey and then trying again only b
ought her time, but not opportunity.  In fact, Strongiron would never trust her if she refused the Queen’s grace.  And that is how they surely viewed this: a generous Queen making room on their quest to fit her in. 
How thankful she should be…

After wrestling with her options,
she thought she could articulate them.  She had her bias, of course, and would advocate for a quick attempt, knowing it would have to be from distance. She had put herself in this ridiculous situation; now she was going to see if she could get herself out.  Veronica closed her eyes and sat on the edge of her bed.

“
Fennatulum,
” she uttered.

~Magi~

As Magi walked through the door in ‘Fate’s Palace,’ he found himself back in his father’s hovel.  He stared around the room, looking for his father’s old spellbook.  It was then that he noticed the pool of blood on the floor next to his father’s body.

“Old man?” he asked, under his breath.  He walked over there and examined the body.  Dead
—throat cleanly sliced open. 
Like Lionel.
  Time in the Staircase had no real meaning to him, so he couldn’t know exactly how long he was gone. Judging from the body, he guessed his father had been dead for less than a day.

Murdered.  Surely Marik’s hands are all over this.
  It was an odd feeling, looking at his dead, blind father who he had never known until recently.  This was a man he thought was so weak—so beneath him—that he had spit upon him.  He did not feel sadness or relief or peace or the love that one might expect with the passing of a father.  He felt only hate—hatred toward Marik for robbing him of a different life, and an almost unquenchable desire for revenge. 
I have no idea where to get this Staff, but I do have at least one tangible goal:  Marik will surely pay for his crimes and treachery.

And so it was with seething determination that Magi teleported for the first time, intent on his destination.

~
Veronica~

“Yes, Veronica?”  Xaro said.  His image shimmered in her room.  She could not make out anything about his whereabouts.  “What shall we discuss?”

Veronica was seated on the edge of her bed, facing a wall.  “I have a choice to make and I would like your input, Master.”  She took a sip of water from a nearby pitcher.  “I have made
my way into the Queen’s court, pretending to be an acolyte for a new God she is intent on discovering.”

“What new God?” Xaro interrupted.

“They call her Dymetra.  I believe you have spoken of Her as an adversary of our Lord and Master, Kuth-Cergor.  She has now ordered me on a quest to another land, searching for information, and my journey begins tomorrow.”

She paused, and Xaro interjected, “She is not a
new
God.  She is older than time itself, Veronica.”

Very well.  I meant ‘new’ as in rediscovered, but whatever. 
She smiled, gave a polite, curt nod, and continued.  “Going on this journey may provide some information to you, but it will take me away from Strongiron.  For how long, I do not know.  So my choice is this:  Make my attempt tomorrow, before I leave, or maintain my cover and continue spying on their efforts to learn about Dymetra.  It is possible I may fulfill my contract against Strongiron whenever I return; it is improbable that I could complete my contract and still depart on the morrow.  The entire expedition will likely be delayed or cancelled if I am successful.”

“When you are successful,” Xaro corrected.

Veronica smiled and felt herself slightly blush.  “Yes.  Of course, Master.  I will not fail you.”

She saw Xaro exhale audibly.  “I am glad you sought my input, Veronica.  It is not so cut-and-dry,” he began.  “There would be great value in having you accompany them.  I presume they are going to Urthrax?  I have studied there, as you know.  It would be helpful if they wandered aimlessly, never finding the ancient Tower of Dariez where Malenec and I learned of the True Gods.  That fool has done more damage than he knows.  Dymetra is, unfortunately, quite real.  It would do our cause well if She turned Her eye on other lands and continued to forget about Tenebrae altogether.  We do not need anyone seeking Her face.”

Xaro’s image appeared to be pacing, though it was always in the same spot against the far wall in Veronica’s room.  It left her with the impression that Xaro was standing still while the land and sky moved behind him.  The effect was a bit unnerving.  He continued.  “On the other hand, I know what they will find there.  The only new information you could provide would be updates on just how close that hideous woman is to finding a True Cleric of her own.  When I weigh the value of that information, even if you can hinder and obstruct their efforts, I find it comes short of the value of crushing Strongiron.  There are several reasons I want him dead.”  He lowered his voice, as if speaking to himself here.  “And not all of them are political.”

“Then I shall make my attempt in the morning.  It will need to be from a distance, in all likelihood.  I will contact you again
when
I am successful.”  She stood up, looking to end the conversation before Xaro reconsidered his input.

“See that you do, Veronica.”  He leaned forward and smiled.  “See that you do.”

~Phillip~

Phillip the Elder was Phillip the Miserable.  For weeks he had been the Lady Ranger’s errand boy, fetching this, finding that, preparing here, running there. 
He
was the Elder. 
He
had hired her.  The very thought that she should be commanding
him
to serve her and Kari was repugnant.  Yet, he liked the idea of joining the Queen’s guard even less, and Rebecca made clear that his service was the only thing that kept him from conscription.

Therefore, i
t was with great relief that he looked upon the day of departure.  Standing near Kari, her brother Kyle, Rebecca, and the enigmatic Sarah (who was looking around constantly), they all were gathered in court to discuss the last details.  The air was suddenly scented with vanilla, roses, and some other hard-to-place spices.  Belara entered to stand next to the Queen, who was quietly discussing something with Niku and Simon.  Peter was inspecting their ship,
The Queen’s Passion. 
Strongiron was nowhere to be seen.