In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (71 page)

The barkeep nodded slowly.  “As you wish.  Come then, let me show you the way.”

~Phillip~

The sun was beginning to fall as Phillip and Niku left
The Noisy Saint. 
Pulling their cloaks tight around them, they looked at the deserted street bathed in the soft glow of twilight.  “Let’s start out back,” said Niku.

They found a rear door that opened up into a narrow street stretching in both directions, with each path leading to several side streets dotted with several shops and homes and other unmarked dwellings.

Niku turned to Phillip.  “It would appear we must split up if we are to canvass the entire street before nightfall.  Our party does not want us to linger apart from them more than that, and frankly I am inclined not to be wandering these unfamiliar roads after sunset either.  Phillip,” he paused and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “I am not inclined to split up, however.  I would feel much better if I could stay with you as we searched.  More protection in pairs.”

You do not trust me.  You think I’m a weakling who turned back on the bridge.  All of you do. 
Phillip steeled himself and looked the True Mage in the eye.  “Niku, I am not unfamiliar with this.”  Phillip drew his sword.  “Just because I serve as an Elder does not mean I am unskilled.  I never intended you to join me when I volunteered in the first place.  We need to find your mage if we are to find out what is going on here.  And the sooner we do that, the better.  You head right, and I will head left, and we shall come back to the inn when the sky shifts from blue to black.  Trust me—if I find this Quentin, I’m only going to ask for your friend to come speak or write to us.  There will be no trouble.  I can handle this…unless you are hoping that we stick together so that I can help protect you?”   He smiled, trying not to appear nervous. 
I’m just going to ask people if they’ve seen a mute named Quentin.  I can do this. 
He had to prove himself to be more than a pack mule on this trip if he had any hope of elevating his status once again. 
Or impressing Rebecca.

Niku finally clapped his back and smiled.  “Yes, I suppose it is safe enough.  If you find him, tell him you are my friend, and ask that he come back to the inn to communicate with us.  If he will not come, then find out what you can and tell him to wait wherever he is and that we will come get him.”  He nodded to the left and said, “Be careful, Phillip.  I will look on the streets to the right.  See you back at
The Noisy Saint
within an hour.”

Niku headed right, walking toward the first small home nearby.  Phillip turned left and did the same.  When he got to the first house, a slit in the door was pulled open at eye level and Phillip saw two eyes staring at him from inside, but they would not open the door or say a word.  There was no answer at the next either, even though smoke rose from a chimney.  Phillip came to a smitty’s workshop, and the fires were still lit.  A piece of metal, no longer red-hot but still recently hammered, was lying on an anvil.  Phillip called out, even called Quentin by name, but nobody answered.  He quietly slid his sword out of
its scabbard; it made him less tense.

The sky was now dark purple, cold, and clear.  The brightest stars were already visible after forty minutes or so of searching.  He rounded the last side street and began to smell the salt in the air as he was closing in on a wharf.  The southern edge of Shu-Tybor opened up to the massive inland sea.  There was a ship tied up there, and a cold fog hung eerily over the entire dock, punctuated by the dull glow of several lamps.  One such light swayed to-and-fro as the hand that held it paced beside the boat.  Phillip approached the light cautiously.

“I say, hello there.” Phillip began in a friendly tone.  “I was wondering if you’ve seen someone.”

The light from the lamp jerked as the startled man appeared to spin around at Phillip’s greeting.  “Who goes there?” he shouted.  “Show yerself!”

“My name is Phillip,” he said.  “I come looking for a friend—that is all.”  He did not, however, sheathe his sword.  The fog was so thick he could not make out the face of the sailor, just the light from the man’s lamp.

“There are no friends here.  Be gone! I want nothing to do with you.”

Phillip continued to approach the man.  “Just a question, sir.”  He finally came upon the man, having to stand mere feet away to see his face through the icy sea-fog that covered the wharf.

The man had a wild look in his eyes, carried a lamp in one hand and a long dagger in the other.  His long hair was mostly grey, with a just a few streaks of black remaining.  “You stay right there.  Come a step closer and I’ll feed the birds with your body.”  He held the dagger in front of the lamp.  He looked up slightly through the fog.  “If there were any,” he added.

Phillip stopped in his tracks.  He held his sword point down, non-threateningly.  “As you say, no closer.  I mean no harm, sir.  I come from afar, and have recently found a friend in this city at a nearby tavern.  He was scared, and ran before I could find out what happened.  His name is Quentin, and he does not talk.  He is a True Mage—you would know him by his white eyes.  He may have run this way.  Do you know him?”

The man cocked his head.  “Not from around here, eh?  Well, you’d best go back from wherever you came.  Yer not likely to find yer friend.”

“Why do you say that?” probed Phillip.  “There aren’t many places he could be staying at.”

The man took one step closer toward Phillip.  He lowered his dagger, but did not put it away.  “Look.  I captain that boat over there,
The Grateful Tears.
  One of the few left that supply this city from Shraal, Pex-Grie, and Kekero.  I sail all over the Sea of Sorrows.  Half the food and drink that comes into this city comes from my ship right over there.  Few other captains will even come here anymore.  I do…because the gold is good.  They pay double, and I’m too old to worry about the rumors and the stories…but I see the dock workers.  I may not worry about the stories, but I don’t venture far off these docks, neither.

“Yer not likely to find yer friend because there isn’t a soul here that will talk to you.  My own crew won’t even step off the boat.  We get to port and they all
disappear into their cabins—queerest thing I’ve seen.  I’d fire the lot of ’em, but I’ve learned the hard way that new crew members aren’t any better.  I’m the only one that watches the unloading of my cargo and collects the gold.  My crew won’t show their faces, and I doubt you’ll see anyone else either.  The whole city is cursed, son.  People here just ain’t right.  The dock workers that unload my boat—if you got close enough to see their faces you’d see what I mean.  They look…hollow, son.  Hungry.  Desperate.  Those bouncing lights you see around my ship?  Those are the dock workers.  Seems like we’re always unloading in a fog bank.”

The man fixed his eyes on Phillip, who noticed for the first time that they were grey-blue.  “Good luck finding yer friend.  I’ve told you what I know, and if it’s all the same, I mean to collect my gold for this shipment and be off.  I’d get out of here myself, if I were you.”

He didn’t say another word, but started walking away, back toward
The Grateful Tears. 
Soon the glow of his lamp was indistinguishable from the others, all bobbing up and down in the gloom of the fog.  It was now night in full, and the sounds of the ship’s unloading seemed to fade. 
Best to head back.
  Phillip turned around to the deserted street behind him.

That was when he noticed several balls of light moving toward him, surrounding him in the cold mist of night.

~Marik~

It was early morning at the docks off the western edge of Gaust.  Marik, Tarsh, and Trevor, who was hungover and quite grumpy, finally found a ship planning to sail west this time of year.  The name of the boat was
Sheila’s Bane. 
Her captain, whom Marik negotiated payment with, was a dour man named Zephyr.  Captain Z, his crew called him.  As they finalized business that morning, Trevor asked Captain Z, “why the name
Sheila’s Bane”?

“She’s me mistress,” he said, pointing his thumb at the ship.  “Sheila was me wife.  Ain’t the mistress always the bane of every wife?”  He smiled a crooked smile and took his gold back to the crew, ordering them to buy more supplies for a long voyage.  They would depart later that morning from Gaust, and Trevor
sure looked like he’d enjoy this ship much better than the
Modest Mermaid.

After leaving the dock, the three of them went their separate way
s for a few hours.  Marik thought about reaching out to Xaro.  He decided against it.  This update would better be delivered in person.  Besides—when Xaro wanted an update, he reached out himself.  So he took the time to replenish some of his spell components and to study his spells.  He also reread the description of the ring found in Wyzle’s book, which he had copied before returning it to the Library.  There could be no mistake; it was as he feared—a unique ring of magical protection.  Karwin the Short’s ring, to be specific.  
No wonder Xaro wanted it so badly. 
He would be nearly invincible with it. 
Of course, so would Magi.  And so would I.
  Xaro needed to be told that Magi could not be controlled, and that he not only possessed the ring, but knew what it did.  But if Marik couldn’t claim it for himself, he certainly didn’t want to stick around on Elvidor now that Magi could teleport. 
Best to leave Magi to the Queen’s ransom.

Trevor returned to the docks soon after Marik arrived, looking as if he had
gone back to bed.  Tarsh was not long in coming, having made a few exotic purchases of his own while in town.  With the morning growing late, Captain Z greeted them on the dock.  “We’re all set.  You three ready to come aboard?”

Marik nodded and led them toward the boarding plank.  “Let’s go Tarsh, Trevor.”

“Wait.”

The familiar voice startled
Marik, who turned around.  Magi had appeared behind them.

“I don’t think we ever said goodbye
…Master.”

Chapter 26:  The Choices of Men; The Power of Women

~Strongiron~

“There is something strange about that barkeep,” Strongiron said as he lugged their supplies into their large room and shut the door behind them.  He set the packs down as Kari lit some oil lamps.

All of them were startled to see Quentin, huddled in a corner, holding a hastily scribbled message that he handed
Strongiron.  “Quentin!” he gasped.  “What happened?  We sent Niku and Phillip to search for you after you ran off.  What is going on?”

Quentin smiled and pointed to the note Strongiron was holding. 
He read it softly aloud to the others:

“Sorry to leave in haste.  You must leave quickly, too.  Many men here are possessed by a terrible evil.  I do not know for sure where they came from or why they are here…but I have suspicions.  They cut the tongues out of all mages—Niku’s white eyes betray him.  They will do the same to him and will torture all of you.  You cannot defeat them—they are undead spirits.  Like wights, they feed off fear and pain, torturing the denizens of this town, but unlike a wight they have no physical form.  They exist only as spirits, and must possess a host to feed.  They take control of you for a night or a week...and you do terrible things to one another to feed their zeal for anguish.  Sons do not trust their fathers; daughters do not trust their mothers.  Nobody trusts anyone here, not knowing who is possessed and who is not until it is too late.  It is a waking nightmare every day, and every night you hear the screams of various townspeople suffering…but never dying.  Oh no, we are not allowed to die.  We are playthings to them.  No one leaves, and no one enters—the cursed bridge sees to that.  They import food to keep us alive, and those that try killing themselves find their spirit tied to the gorge—you heard their voices, I’m sure.  We all did, and knew visitors were coming.  Only a True Cleric, if such a thing exists, could bind these foul creatures.  Some of us are possessed several times a month; others seem to be permanently possessed.  One such is the barkeep—he was the one who took my tongue, lest I teleport away.

You will not survive the night.  We must leave now!
”

Strongiron slowly closed his eyes after reading this and bowed his head. Just then Niku knocked and was let in by Kari.  “I could not find h—” he started to say when he saw Quentin seated there.  “Quentin!”  He stood up and walked over to clasp his hands in greeting.  “I went looking for you.  Phillip and I did.  Where have you been this past year?  Why did you run?  What happened to your voice?”

Strongiron just handed him the letter in silence, while Niku caught up.  “My God,” was all he said.  “Oh Quentin…”  He shook his head.
  “I cannot heal your tongue.  A tear, or a puncture, a broken bone—those we can handle.  But to grow a new appendage is beyond our Art, you of all must know this.  You had a certain flair for healing, if I recall.”

Quentin nodded, his face expressionless
as he scribbled another note:

“But you can still leave, Master.  Teleport!”

“And leave everyone else here?” Niku frowned. “You know I will not do that.  Kari here is looking for evidence of the ancient God, of Dymetra, who it is said favored even the Archmage Quixatalor.  It has been given to us by the Queen that she should find knowledge, wisdom, and understanding.  We have heard of the ancient Tower where True Clerics had in ages past studied together.  It is called Dariez.  Have you heard of this place?” the mage asked.

Quentin nodded and began writing again
, as quickly as he could:

Yes…perhaps we have a chance.  There are catacombs underneath Shu-Tybor.  They are guarded, but so are the lagoon to the south and the bridges to the north, east, and west.  If you mean to leave together, the catacombs are the only way, and it will be a fight.

He stopped scribbling and paused, looking up at everyone.  After a sigh he continued writing:

I believe these undead spirits were summoned to Shu-Tybor to keep God-Seekers from finding the catacombs…from finding the Tower of Dariez.  I have heard some of the possessed mention their God.  I did not believe it, but I have heard his name mentioned so often that there must be a link.  It is always mentioned by those possessed, usually when they torture us.  They often invoke the name of Kuth-Cergor, and refer to themselves as Watchers.  We must leave now, before they come here en masse.

Strongiron stood up and put his massive hand over the hilt of his giant two-handed sword.  “Lead the way, Quentin.”

As they re
packed their supplies, taking only essentials, Rebecca stopped and said, “What about Phillip?  He did not return with you, Niku.”

They all looked at one another, and at Quentin, who just shook his head.

Again Niku spoke up.  “We agreed—against my better judgment—to separate in order to cover both ends of the city.  I should not have left him alone.”  He lowered his head.  “We cannot leave him to this fate.  It is an abomination, what has been done to this town.  If there were more of us, we could free it from the grip of these demons.”

Quentin, still shaking his head, this time a little more animatedly, wrote
as everyone gathered around him:

Your friend has probably been taken already.  Nobody walks the streets.  Nobody!  It would take an army of True Clerics led by Windomere himself to send these spirits away.  I don’t see how a real God would allow such evil to exist, but pray to Her now if you are so inclined.  She rules over a Dark World, and Shu-Tybor is about the darkest place you’ll find.

He threw the note at Kari and left, without waiting to see if anyone was following him.  They all hurried to catch up.

~Magi~

At the sound of Magi’s voice,
Tarsh also spun around, and Magi could see his white eyes, scarred face, and burned head. 
So…you are also a True Mage now.  And by the looks of you, it was costly.  Good.  Let us see how talented you are without Ragor lurking in the shadows to trip me.

Pushing aside that this man had grown up with him, shared a room with him, studied with him, ate with him, laughed with him
—he focused instead on what Ragor had told him:  that he sought to court Kari as soon as Magi left to learn his prophecy.  And now to see him travelling with Marik…

Magi was brought out of his thoughts by a sudden attack from his bald-headed, former friend. 
With unexpected agility, Tarsh sent a series of magic projectiles at Magi while simultaneously putting up an obvious shield spell.

The miss
iles dissipated harmlessly when they got within a few feet of Magi.  He smiled and laughed, twisting his ring for the first time in many months, as was his oldest habit.  He glanced over at Marik, who seemed to be frozen, staring at Magi’s ring. 
So you know now what it does, too.  What a difference a year makes—a year ago you could have asked for it and like a fool I would have given it to you, ‘Master’.

Magi scoffed as he saw Marik frantically casting a defensive spell himself, at which time his former Master started shouting “Mage Guards!  I have found the rogue Mage!  He is there—Guards!  Secure him!”  He then took a step toward the plank to board
Sheila’s Bane.

Smiling, Magi sent a missile into the boarding plank and turned it into kindling and driftwood.

Magi then noticed a third man, smaller than Tarsh and Marik, slink away, finding some cover behind a tall row of crates that were stacked along the banks of the pier.  He did not recognize him, but he did not appear to be a serious threat at the moment.  He returned his focus to the two mages, and found Marik had turned around to face him.

“Magi. 
You’ve found me.  I am sorry to hear that you haven’t been behaving.  Please excuse Tarsh, I believe he’s still upset over Kyle’s murder,” Marik said loudly.

Captain Z, who was
watching this spectacle from behind the railing on his main deck, rang a bell he kept aboard for land calls shouted:  “He’s back!  The rogue mage is back!  Mage guards!  Come quick!”

Between Marik and Captain Z’s shouts, s
oon activity picked up around the pier.  A small mob formed, circling the three men in a wide ring.  More shouts rang out, and the crowd became larger and larger as people came by to see what the commotion was all about.  Magi kept an eye on the little man as he moved from behind the crates to blend into the crowd.

Magi, Tarsh, and Marik began to slowly circle one another.  One of the men
in the crowd recognized Magi from the recent Trial and leapt at him, arms outstretched.  Magi paralyzed him effortlessly without even looking toward him.  In his heightened state of awareness that always washed over him whenever his magic flowed, Magi could hear the soft footfalls and the swishing of robes from several Mage Guards that had come upon the scene and were slowly encircling him.  The paralyzed man tumbled to the ground without even a shout, falling at an awkward angle, skinning his face when he landed.  Magi just stepped over him.

“I see you have learned restraint, in spite of your power
,” Marik said.  “That was one of the things I struggled to teach you.”

“You may find I am
yet a slow learner.”  He again lost himself to the magic and brought forth an air hammer—the same spell that split open Kyle’s head back when he tolerated him.  Only this time, it was not the clumsy cast of a mage who was learning his own power.  He unleashed it with malice on Tarsh.

The echo from the blow caused the boats
next to the pier to rock as the water rolled from the echo, even flipping one of the small lifeboats tethered to
Sheila’s Bane
in the harbor.  The crowd screamed as the ground shook, with people falling all over one another. Several large trees wobbled from the aftershock.

It was a killing blow that cost Magi less energy to cast than he might expend trapping butterflies.  Tarsh screamed and crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from another gash to
his face.  His legs and arms were shattered, and his ribs were crushed.  Only his shield spell had kept him clinging to life.  But he was near death, lying on the pier in a lump of flesh and clothing.

The crowd
began running in all directions in a panic.  Seven or eight Mage Guards sought to bind Magi, but their spells grasped nothing but air.  He was completely immune from their magic.  He flashed a twisted little smile and then sent a series of lightning bolts into the nearest Mage Guards, ripping through their shield spells like cotton armor.

Marik began summoning an enormous lightning bolt of his own, sending it toward Magi.  It seemed to strike a wall in front of him and the power dissipated harmlessly.  But during the lightning flashes, he drew his dagger and charged Magi.

Believing his ring was the only defense he needed, Magi was taken aback by the charge and was slow to cast a shield.  He heard one of the Mage Guards yell “Ropes!  Spears and Rope!”  Then Marik was on him.

He grabbed Marik’s arm, and they proceeded to tumble to the ground, Magi straining to keep his former Master’s blade away from him. 
He wants to kill me close so he can take my ring!

It was then that Magi remembered his test on the Staircase.  The lone wolf, up close, tearing him apart—because he was unable to use his magic. 
That will not happen to me again.

Magi was stronger than Marik.  Younger and stronger.  But Marik was fighting with an unbridled fury—like the rage of a rabid, hungry dog—that it more than made up for the mismatch in size.  Marik was on top of him, with all his weight bearing down on the dagger that was inching closer and closer to Magi’s chest.

Magi lost himself to his Art.  He could not reach his belt for any spell components, but fortunately this spell didn’t call for any.  As the point of the knife began to scratch his tunic, he electrified his hands, and the jolt caused Marik to drop the knife in agony and roll off him.

Magi immediately turned his attention to the Mage Guards who were charging him now that Marik was off him.  He cast a ring of fire around both he and Marik, causing the few remaining citizens in the crowd to scream and flee as the wall of flame formed a wide circle around the two men.  Several Mage Guards could not stop their charge in time and plunged into the red-hot flames, dropping their spears and ropes and falling to the ground immediately in agony.  One cast a water spell to try and put the flaming wreath out, but it had nowhere near the power that Magi’s spell did; all it did was fill the pier with steam.

Marik stood up, still shaking his scorched wrists where Magi had shocked him.  He had backed up inside the fire ring as far as he could—there was nowhere he could run.  Magi saw him look at the dagger on the ground, and he kicked it into the flames.  He saw Marik try and teleport, but Magi just laughed at him.

“Do you like my new spell?  I created it just for such a moment, Marik.  I figured we should have some uninterrupted privacy.  Now they can’t teleport in,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “And we can’t teleport out.  Is it warm enough for you?”  Magi began slowly walking toward Marik, cutting off any angle he might run inside the ring of flame.