In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (73 page)

Rebecca screamed as soon as Phillip touched her, falling to her knees.  Strongiron swung at the forearm holding her and sliced the arm clear off at the elbow.  There was no blood flowing. 
The Elder didn’t bat an eyelash; he just kept smiling as he put his dirk away. Picking his arm back up with his good hand, he reattached it and drew his dirk again.  Strongiron just growled and with a powerful return stroke took off Phillip’s head.

Everyone watched as the body just calmly walked over to where the head had rolled and picked it up from the floor.  Like the arm, Phillip just reattached it with a twist and another smile.  Not a drop of blood was lost.  “The pain is exquisite, Strongiron.  I should hold my neck out again for the simple pleasure of the pain, my old friend.”

Niku shot magic missiles straight at the woman who had come up behind them, and they sunk deep into her chest.  They barely slowed her down, and didn’t wipe the smile off her face, either.

The possessed humans just
kept coming, seemingly growing stronger whenever there was pain in the room—their own or the group’s.  Phillip kept instructing them forward, and every time Strongiron sliced off a finger, an ear, an ankle—he just kept reattaching them.  Once Strongiron executed an unbelievable double-stroke that took off both of Phillip’s arms.  He just bent over, and his arms reattached themselves.  Soon they were surrounded on all four sides, with the undead spirits seemingly inexhaustible energy closing in.

Staring around with wide eyes,
Kari began chanting almost silently to herself.  She kept going for minutes before finally stopping, out of breath, and turning to the others.

“Come!  We must run back.  To the gorge
—it is the only way.  Hurry!”  Niku ran off, avoiding the touch of the nearest foe. The rest followed him, also avoiding the outstretched hands of Phillip and the others. Soon all the others, with Kari last, had retreated back up the stairs.  There was a distant sound of the door slamming.

The four
undead were stupefied until Phillip shouted.  “After them!  They cannot cross the gorge—get them before they plunge over if you wish to feed!  Run!”  They all began heading quickly up the stairs, leaving the empty basement behind.

A minute or three later, Strongiron looked at Kari
as the group appeared out of nowhere.  “That was brilliant.”

With a shudder, she
finally dropped the illusion of their retreat, and panted for breath.  “That was the most…elaborate spell…I ever…cast.  I’ve never…created an illusion…with that much intricate…movement and sound.”  She glanced at Quentin.  “We haven’t got much time.”

Quentin nodded
and motioned the others to follow.  Near the back of the cellar was a large cask on the floor.  He pointed at Strongiron to help him move it, which he did, revealing a small drain hole in the floor.  He motioned to pour the wine from the cask into the hole, which Strongiron did, with only a slight groan at the weight.

As the wine flowed through the drain, they soon heard a
slow grinding sound, and a small section of the back wall swung open, leading to a spiral staircase of pitch blackness.  Quentin motioned everyone through, handing Niku the candle.  Strongiron took another huge cask and moved it back over the drain hole to maintain appearances before squeezing himself into the entrance to the catacombs.  Kari had already cast a glow ball.

At the first landing of the twisting staircase, they saw the wine they had poured into the drain gathered into a
nother cask.

“This one holds the door open—like a counterweight,” Niku said. “Very clever.”

Quentin smiled and pointed at the whole contraption before he unplugged the drain at the bottom, letting the wine spill out like a thin, red waterfall to the depths below in the center of the staircase.  It took what seemed like a minute before they heard the wine splatter on the floor of the catacombs.  Soon the door to the cellar above had closed again.

“Let’s hope the catacombs do, in fact, lead us close to Dariez,” Niku said quietly, though his words echoed off the stone
walls everywhere.

~Xaro~

Xaro knew something was wrong.  The connective spell he had cast over all five of his council gave him the ability to “summon” them to meetings across enormous distances…and it also gave him a sense when they were no longer “connected
.”

Marik was
no longer “connected.”

Shortly after, he felt Veronica reach out to request a meeting with him. 
I think it is past time for a meeting of my entire council, actually.

Travelling north, Tar-tan
and he had led their army up to the Ajax Mountains that divided the continent.  Amazingly, an earthquake in the center of the range had opened up a small gap.  They had felt the tremors leagues away in their approach, but coming up to the mountain range, the effect was unmistakable.  Loose rock had cascaded down the face of the mountains, flattening out a path through the range.  Scouts had come back and reported that the desert on the other side was a day’s ride through the debris.

Uttering silent praise to Kuth-Cergor, he found a small hillside to make camp.  He and Tar-tan left the men to call a meeting with the remaining members of his council.  Soon the shimmering images of Veronica
, Trevor, and Malenec appeared.

Xaro began.  “Before I hear your updates, I have one for you.  It appears that Marik
is dead…I felt my connection to him fade.  He was supposed to deliver me a reformed mage that we could use to further prepare the way for our Master.  When he failed, I sent him to join you, Trevor, to try and reverse your failures in recovering my ring.  I even sent my Assassin to join you—”

“I have not failed you, Master.  I have recovered the ring,” interrupted Trevor.

“
I
have recovered the ring, Master.  It is right here.”  Veronica pulled out the ring and showed it to the group.  “If you wish, we can update you on Marik.  Both Trevor and I saw what happened to him.”  Veronica finished.  Trevor just narrowed his eyes.

“
We
recovered the ring, Master.  Together.”

Xaro
held up his hand.  “Enough.  Veronica, you first.  Speak.”

She nodded. 
“Yes, Master.  Trevor, Marik, and another mage they were travelling with—Marik called him Tarsh, I believe—were making plans to see you.  They—”

“I wanted to stay and complete our task, but Marik was convinced that we needed to return to Sands End, Master,” Trevor hurriedly said.

Xaro rubbed his forehead and nodded to Veronica to continue.

“As I was saying, Master, they were making preparations.  Magi had apparently tracked Marik down, and he had your ring.  As you ordered me at our last update, I was heading back to Gaust to try and help Trevor and Marik.  I had arrived only the previous night, and was only beginning my search for the others by the harbor when I saw them getting ready to leave.  To my amazement, that was when I saw Magi teleport behind Marik and call out to him.

“Magi had the ring and was impervious to Marik as well as to a host of Mage Guards that quickly descended on the pier as word spread.  He then killed Marik and nearly killed this other mage as well, whom I think he knew.  They were powerless against him, Xaro—it was hardly a fair fight.  I watched and waited…as did Trevor.  Both of us were waiting for an opening to try and grab the ring for you.  In the end, I had to kill Magi to retrieve the ring, and I left quickly afterward.  Trevor was…helpful in my escape. 
Instrumental.
”

Xaro sat down
, a look of disbelief on his face.  “He’s dead?  Magi is dead? 
You
killed him?”

Veronica tried not to look indignant. 
“I slit his throat myself, Master.  It was the only way.  Trevor was there, he saw all this…Trevor?”  Veronica looked at the Thief.

He looked over at Veronica, the ring, and Xaro.  “It is as she said, Master.  There was no other way to get the ring and save him.  At best we could hope to trade his life for your ring, and at worst Veronica and I would die in the attempt and he would have the ring still.  She had seconds to make her choice…I didn’t even know she was there until after she
grabbed it.  I hope we made the right choice; forgive us if we did not.”

Xaro looked at Veronica, stunned. 
I can’t believe the boy is dead. What’s more, I can’t believe he would let an Assassin slit his throat!  Could it be that this is Kuth-Cergor’s will?  How else can I explain it?
  “I…I can’t believe it.  All those years invested in him—that talent!  I did not give you permission to kill him!” he shouted.

Veronica looked at Xaro, then at Trevor.  Malenec and Tar-Tan said nothing.  She looked back at Xaro, and did not lower her head.

Xaro stood up.  “There shall be no gold for this kill, Assassin.  Not from me, and not for you.  Give the ring to Trevor.  You are to bring it to me, thief.  Surely you can manage a second voyage across the sea to Sands End.  This time, let us have an uneventful journey, yes?”

Veronica finally nodded, and—somewhat reluctantly—handed the ring to Trevor.  “As you wish, Master.”  She looked at Trevor with narrow eyes before looking back at Xaro.

Trevor smiled as the ring disappeared into one of his pockets.  He turned to Xaro.  “Another thought, Master.  Perhaps this other mage would be a suitable consolation prize, if you are looking for a replacement for Marik.  He will not be injured forever, and he would not harbor any love for Magi or his allies, I can assure you that,” Trevor said.

“Perhaps.  Go talk to him,
Trevor, and keep that ring safe.  Bring this mage with you if he is worth my time, if he is of use.”  He then looked back at Veronica.  “You, my dear, still have an unfinished task.  You are sure that your cover is still intact when you left Rookwood?”

“It is.  It may actually be…enhanced.”

“In what way?”

“Master, there is a warrant for Magi’s death throughout Elvidor, a royal proclamation.  If I return as the one who killed him, I may find myself more ingrained than ever in the Queen’s court.  When Strongiron returns from his mission, I
may have more opportunities alone with him if my status is…elevated.  This may be a blessing for our cause in the long run, Master.  I know how
important
it is to you that we see Strongiron…dead.”

Xaro considered this. 
Perhaps this is the hand of Kuth-Cergor, after all. 
“I see.  It is possible, I suppose, although I imagine that it may be your celebrity that is enhanced, perhaps not your cover.  Still—the effect may be the same if you are wise in your machinations.  Very well—return to Elvidor and present yourself to the Queen as the one who rid Tenebrae of this murderous mage.  Ask for an audience with her General when he returns; that is a simple request she can grant.  And one more thing, my dear…”

“Yes, Master?” she asked.

“Bring me back whatever reward she is offering.  This was not a personal contract for your personal gain.  Our gold is not inexhaustible.”

“As you wish,” Veronica said sweetly.
  Her face was inscrutable.

Turning to his Dark Cleric, Xaro gave a long exhale.  
“Malenec?  Your update?”  Xaro said, perhaps more sharply than he meant.

The Dark Cleric smiled.  “
I
await you at Sands End right now
.
  My horde is somewhat bored, but I have managed to keep them from feeding on the army you left behind.  I must say, the fortress is provisioned quite well.”

Xaro narrowed his eyes.  “Your numbers?”

“More than 25,000.  And
your
numbers?”  The Dark Cleric asked his Master, somewhat arrogantly.

Xaro just smiled.  “Tar-tan leads
close to 30,000.  Therefore
I
lead more than 55,000, plus the army I left back at Sands End.
 
A good start, for sure, and I appreciate your contributions, Malenec.”  The tension between the two of them was not lost on Veronica, Trevor, or Tar-Tan.

Xaro continued.  “Very well.  We are a day’s journey to cross the Ajax
Mountains, and from there we shall head north and be at Sands End
shortly.  Perhaps three weeks.”

“How
do you expect to move your army over the mountains and across the desert?” Malenec asked smugly.  “Surely, that is madness.”

“Why Malenec, I thought you were a True Cleric?  Where’s your faith?”  Xaro said with a sarcastic smile, ending the meeting.

Kuth-Cergor will deliver us, fool.
  And so he did, by all appearances.  The rarest of rains came down shortly after Xaro and his army crossed the Ajax Mountains, cooling the air immeasurably.  It seemed to rain nearly every day, and they found several ingenious ways of gathering the water during their march through the desert.

It was thus with great anticipation
, and to much fanfare, that Xaro arrived, bringing thunder and lightning with his every step.

Chapter 27:  The Seeds of Hope

~Magi~

Magi looked around.  He stood on a beautiful path of stone, all expertly laid by the look of it.  Different shapes, but the smooth stones seemed to fit together like an intricate puzzle.  The path seemed to wind along off into the distance for some ways.

To the left and right of the stone path were grand fields of brightly colored flowers that covered gently rolling hills.  The flowers were unlike any he had ever seen—they just didn’t seem to grow anywhere on Elvidor.  Lightly colored blues offset by violet, rich pinks, pristine whites, flaming orange, deep crimson—even pastel shades of yellow and lavender.  When a warm breeze blew and the petals waved, it was like a symphony of colors swaying to soft music.  And beyond the rolling hills were thickening forests, and beyond the forests, well in the distance, were majestic mountains to either side.

It was the most serene, most breathtaking landscape Magi had ever seen or imagined.

A beautiful woman approach
ed him along the path.  She wore a shimmering light green dress with a matching neck scarf that exuded springtime.  She had a kind face that seemed familiar.  It was the face of a woman without a care in the world.  She extended a hand to him.

Magi grabbed her hand, and she smiled.  “Hello, Magi.”  She hugged him.

Confused, he gently pushed her away.  “Do I know you?”

She looked at him.  “You do not, but I know you, my son.  Follow me.”

Magi raised an eyebrow, and followed her.  Somewhere ahead he heard running water, perhaps from a small stream coming out of the mountains and through the forest.  He stopped suddenly as his memories started to flow.  He reached up to his neck, and felt the scar across his throat.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Home.  Dymetra has brought you to Her home.”  She waved him forward.

“So
, who are you?” he asked as he started walking again.  The flowers began to give way to lush, thick grass, dotted by simple wildflowers.  Further down the stone trail, they approached a small dwelling by a river that could now clearly be seen cutting through the meadow on his right.  It was mild here, with a slight breeze, and Magi began to smell the wildflowers growing all around.  To his right, several lions relaxed next to a bush in the meadow.  Amazingly, a single sheep was drinking water from the river. It raised its head to bleat at the pride of lions nearby. They stared back at it with yellow eyes, but not one made a move toward the animal.

“
Who are you?” he asked again.

The woman stopped and turned
around.  “Magi, I am your mother, Jacyntha.  Your father called me Jaz.  I have waited eighteen years to hold you again—we only had you for less than a year, my son.  Less than a year!  But now look at you!  You’re all grown.”  She smiled again.  “Oh Magi, there is so much to say, but it is not really my place.  It is a gift from Dymetra that she allowed me to be the first to greet you, but I must take you inside.  You will have many of your questions answered there.”

Magi was trying to process this as they came to the simple home.  She reached out and open
ed the door, motioning him to hurry.  Magi rubbed his neck again, feeling the scar, shaking his head, trying to take everything in.

“Wait.”  He said.  “How did you die?”  Something didn’t add up.

Jacyntha sighed.  She slowly undid the gossamer scarf around her neck, revealing the hint of a scar.  “Your father tried to save my life, bargaining yours that he and I may live.  In the end, we were betrayed, and as you can see, my head was…severed.  All that your father, my dear Tomas, told you was true, son.  Now come—the time for doubt is over, Magi.”

Surreal doesn’t begin to describe this. 
“One more question, er, Mom,” he said as he approached the building.  “Are we—are we dead?”

His mother laughed.  “Son, do we look or sound dead to you?  Are you not thirsty?  Now for the last time, come in.  It’s not polite to keep Dymetra waiting.”  She pushed the door open and entered.

Come to think of it, I
am
thirsty. 
He followed her inside.

~Kari~

The catacombs were a frustrating maze of tunnels and rooms far below the city.  Several crypts were also uncovered, but these they left undisturbed. 
The catacombs were clearly built to bury bodies, but Niku offered his best guess as to other reasons they might have extended as far as they did.  He conjectured that perhaps the catacombs were also built to form an underground byway of sorts, or perhaps a hiding place for citizens trying to escape rival warlords in a bygone era—he didn’t know for sure.  But it was a painstaking process to map their tracks and avoid doubling back over areas they had travelled through before.  But hours of exploring had not led to any stairs leading up…just rooms with crude drawings, rooms with tables, altars, and more and more crypts.

Finally, after studying a drawing on a scroll they
’d found on one of the tables, it was Kari who said, “I think I know the purpose of these catacombs.”

“
Yes?”  Niku asked, as they all paused a minute for some water and rest.

Kari showed them the scroll.  “It dawned on me that we see this symbol frequently
—I recognized it from one of the scraps you found, Niku.  It represents the One True God, Dymetra.  I believe we entered these catacombs backwards…that they start at the Tower itself, and were built by the True Clerics of old not only to bury the dead, but to escape persecution when they fell out of favor.  I believe they surfaced in Shu-Tybor, not by design, but out of necessity.  That is why there are so few paths that lead anywhere but to dead ends, quite literally.  If I am right, then from where we entered we will likely only find the tower through process of elimination.  Look more closely at this scroll.  I think it is some type of prayer, but I can’t read it.”

Niku took it and studied it.  “You know, I think you may be right.  Come, let’s
keep going.  If you are correct, who knows how long or how big this labyrinth is to conceal the True Clerics’ escape.”  He got up and handed her the scroll.  “I’d keep that, if I were you.”

She tucked it away
with a smile, and followed Niku and the rest while they continued exploring paths that hadn’t been checked yet.

~Magi~

Inside the simple dwelling were many rooms, but near the back was one larger than most.  There were several youthful
-looking men standing near a wall.  Also against the wall was a raised platform, and upon that platform was a chair.  The chair was all white, and had a high back and wide arms.  Magi could not tell whether it was wood or stone or something else entirely, and his gaze did not linger on it very long.  Seated in the large and rather comfortable-looking chair was another woman.  She stood and approached Magi.  “Welcome, young mage.”

Magi was awestruck.  This person did not glow, did not radiate, and yet
he felt her immeasurable power immediately.  An overwhelming sense of smallness flooded over him, and he dropped to his knees, put his face on the floor, and covered his head.  His mind was filled with every shortcoming he had ever thought of, felt, or committed.  He thought of how he had spit on his own father, how he had killed Marik, how he had slapped Kari, but above all, he could not shake the image of the stunned look on Kyle’s face as he fell dying by his hand.  He sobbed, his tears tracking down his cheeks.

Magi
felt a hand on his back.  Looking up, he saw a man pulling him up.  He blinked away the tears to try and focus.

“Magi, it’s me.  Kyle.  It’s ok, Magi.  I understand.”  He hugged him.

Magi looked around, he saw his father here, too.  But everyone looked different.  Kyle looked older somehow.  His father looked younger.  And his father had bright eyes—he was no longer blind!

Wiping his eyes, h
e turned back to Kyle, trying to make sense of it all.  “Kyle?  You look…different.  I am so sorry.  I am so, so very sorry.  Please forgive me.”

The woman that Magi could scarcely look at said, “You are forgiven, Magi.  But your work is not done.”

Magi had never in his life, not once, met someone whom he felt was his equal.  Nobody could wield the depth of power with which he had been blessed.  But when Dymetra addressed him, Magi fell back to his knees.  For the first time in his life, he grasped the difference between limited power and limitless energy.  He did not belong in Her presence—not as an equal, not as a servant, not as a guest.  Overpowered, awestruck, and with head bowed, he said humbly, “You are Dymetra.”  It was not a question.

“I am.”

His head was filled with questions, but he was scared to even voice them.  He pushed many of them to the back of his mind and asked the first thing he felt comfortable asking:  “Where am I?”

“You are in my home.  I welcome all who know me.”  Dymetra spoke kindly, but Magi noticed all who were in the room also fell to their knees when She approached.  Not because they had to…you just didn’t know what else to do in
the vicinity of such
power.
  In many ways it was absolutely terrifying.

Still f
acing the floor, Magi plucked up the courage to ask a second question.  “Why am I here and not Marik, or Ragor?  As you know, I have done terrible, terrible things.”

Dymetra did not hesitate.  “Your deeds have nothing to do with your presence here.  Nothing.  If
people had to earn a way to my home through their own efforts, than no one would ever join me.”

Magi fel
t a hand on each shoulder.  Tilting his head slightly, he saw his mother kneeling to his right and his father to his left, each gently holding his shoulder as he himself knelt and shuddered.

Magi tried to
understand this and just couldn’t.  “I don’t understand.”

“Nor could you, Magi.  But soon you will understand a little more than you do.”  Again, Her voice was gentle, but
Her presence was almost blinding.  He could not engage in a conversation with Her much longer—he felt like he was about to break into pieces and was just barely holding himself together.  His parents helped.

Swallowing hard, Magi pushed on with his questions.  “I must ask
—why is this happening?  There is so much suffering on Tenebrae.  Why have You left us for so long?”  He tried to look up at Her, but could not face Dymetra.  His shoulders began to tremble.

“Left?  I should ask you this question.  Why have my people left Me?”  Dymetra sounded neither angry nor amused.  Just inexorably
patient. 
Patient, holy, and powerful.  Whether She meant to or not, Her presence was suffocating Magi.

In a gasp of strength, like he was struggling against some unseen foe, he finally steeled himself to raise his head.   “If You never left, than You must have removed Your blessing.  Look at how dark our world is?  How can You let such darkness persist?  It is hard to understand why You allow such terrible
things to happen to so many good people!”  Head up, he forced himself to face Her.

Her face was expressionless for a moment.  After what seemed longer than it probably was, She
asked, “Where are these ‘good people’ to whom you refer?  Are you so wise that you know the heart of a man?  Are you to be the judge of what truly is ‘good’?  Do you know the thoughts of a man in the dark, the deeds of a man in private, the feelings of a man when he expresses nothing?  Are you to judge rightly whether every word spoken is a lie or the truth?  Or even harder—can you tell when someone is hiding the truth or sharing only half-truths for their own purposes?  Do you know the motivations behind every action to tell whether they are pure or for selfish gain?  When you see someone helping another—do you know if they do it because they feel guilty for their own quality of life, or because they expect something in return, or because they want to simply help?  So tell me, wise one, who is good, and above all, who made
you
their judge?”

Magi looked around.  Everyone was looking at him, their faces expressionless.  He received no guidance from anyone.  So he said the only thing that was on his mind, “Kyle did not deserve to die.  He was good.”

Kyle shook his head slowly and said, “Oh Magi, I wish that were true.  We all see ourselves as we truly are when we come here and stand before Her.  As you are doing now, so too all of us have done.  No, I am not ‘good.’  The jealousy, the greed, the vanity—you can’t imagine the things about myself that are true when you strip away the façade we all create.  No, I am not good—not by any objective measure.  But I am forgiven, as are you.  And for that I am eternally grateful.  What I miss on Tenebrae cannot compare to what I have here.”

Broken of his last conviction tied to the limits of human logic,
Magi simply bowed his head again.  He was out of tears, and was exhausted.  He stopped trembling, stopped shuddering.  He just began to let go and accept that there were certain things about Dymetra that could only be grasped if one had infinite power, infinite wisdom, infinite knowledge of past, present, and future.  If one
knew
someone’s past and future, inside and out—perhaps then you could judge someone good or bad.  Everybody else was stuck judging it relative to someone else.