In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (9 page)

The clicking seemed just a hair too loud.  Part of what made Trevor such an exceptional lock picker was his instincts, and this lock just
felt
too inviting.  Even though it was a rare one, it was too straightforward, and the clicking seemed to be almost too
encouraging. 
He withdrew his tools before engaging the seventh pin and looked even more closely at the door, the ledge, the cave walls, and ceiling.

He couldn’t find any needle-prick holes, trap doors, hidden spikes, potion drops, or other traps he had studied.  He redoubled his search efforts. 
Something was not right.

Looking closely at the hinges on the right, he did see something odd.  It looked like there was a curious line of scrapes along the wall that butted up next to the hinges, on the right side of the door.  The door, whenever he got it open, would only swing about ninety-degrees before it hit the wall on the right; the ledge he was standing on was hardly wider than the door itself.

The ledge is hardly wider than the door itself…

If the door didn’t swing open, but instead pushed out, it would push him back over the ledge into the chasm, and would probably make those scratches in the wall along the way. 
A fitting trap, no pun intended.

He began looking at the bottom latch.  Gently probing, he couldn’t quite figure this one out.  There were no pins, no tumbler—no mechanism of any kind that he recognized.  It was curious.  He changed tools and probed deeper into the bottom latch.  Nothing.  There was not a single mechanical component behind the lock that he could feel.

Trevor sat down, sweating mildly from the concentration.  He pursed his lips and sighed loudly.  At the sound of his voice, he thought he
barely
heard something from behind the lock.  He sighed again.  Nothing.  He yelled.  Nothing.  He whistled.  Again, he didn’t hear so much as
felt
the most modest of vibrations, imperceptible unless you were expecting it. 
A tonal lock.

It took a few more whistles, but eventually he figured out the pattern.  As he hit the final note, the door opened inward with a loud
click
followed by a long squeak, as if the hinges were unaccustomed to moving in this direction. 
Indeed, there have not been many new Master Thieves promoted during my training in the Guild.

The path through the door was lit with glowballs on either side.  A pedestal stood about twenty feet away from the door opening, and atop was a small leather pouch.  Walking up to the pedestal carefully, Trevor looked for any final traps, such as a counterweight or something.  Finding none, he looked at the pouch.  It was stuffed with gold.

Having retrieved the gold, the Mist had been impressed.  “All that’s left is your Test of Thievery.  Your challenge will be to steal nothing less than the famed purple sun from the beautiful neck of Lady Elyn.  And see that no harm comes to her neck; I’m not interested in starting a war.”

Chapter 3:  A Sight, a Flight, and a Fight

~Trevor~

Dawn was breaking, and shafts of sunlight pierced the trees, warming Trevor’s face.  Opening his eyes, first one then the other, he peeked around.  He’d been able to grab a few hours of Thief’s Sleep after all. Stiff, he quietly stretched.  It was now time to put his plan in motion.

Carefully applying his make-up, he was soon transformed from a queer-looking, red-headed little man into a dark-haired, haggard traveler lost in the great forest.  Elvish compassion and wood-lore was legendary; many a traveler owed their life to their generosity.  However, their forest-city of Thalanthalas was so well guarded, so hidden that the Elves could afford to be hospitable.  Surrounded by thick forest, with spies all about, it would take an army to attack the city, and they would know well in advance of any assault.  Elvish Druids would poison the water and raise the very trees against any attackers.  A single man looking for the city by stealth would similarly be cut down if deemed suspicious.

No, Trevor rightly figured his only way in was to pose as a lost traveler, hurt and tired, and prey upon their compassion.  Any type of direct attempt would be futile.  Once he got inside, he’d just have to figure out the rest on the fly, not knowing anything about the Lady Elyn—her dress, her habits, the location of her room, her guards, etc.  The only thing he knew for sure was that she was stunningly beautiful.  It was said that the amethyst starburst paled in comparison to the princess’s own beauty, and this necklace was one of the most famous pieces of jewelry in the land.  This was another reason Trevor needed a disguise.  Once stolen, it would be obvious that a stranger to the city likely took it, and his absence would be quite conspicuous.

Ah, the noble science of theft. 
Trevor smiled to himself as he carefully added a scar to his cheek.  Living in such a Dark World, where it really was every man for himself, Trevor delighted in his skills.  The idea of personal property was such an antiquated value. 
You were entitled to what you could take. 
And the harder the challenge, the more noble the pursuit.  In a world abandoned and cursed by the gods, men were left to their own devices to carve out an existence anywhere and any way they could.  Food was scarce; steal for food or something you could trade for food.  Same for every essential—shelter, clothing, heat.  In a Dark World where the ends
always
justified the means, Trevor considered thievery a noble science.  He was punishing those who would otherwise hoard excess by
nobly
removing some of their plenty from them.  So Thievery was not only a noble endeavor, but highly practical.  And a Master Thief was the pinnacle of practicality; as such, one could live a life more luxurious than the Queen of Elvidor. 
One amethyst is all that stands between me and such a life.

Therefore it was with zero guilt that Trevor went about his business. 
The Elvish princess hardly needs the purple sun. 
He had convinced himself that by selling that jewel on the black market and spending the money on himself was the honorable—the
noble
—thing to do.  Such was life in this Dark World. 
It’s not what you can own, it’s what you can keep
was a common proverb within the Thief’s Guild, and indeed was a well understood sentiment from nobility to commoner and every status in between.  Nobility fought over gold; farmers over a stack of wood.  And it was the Thief’s Guild that helped pick winners and losers whenever they could.

His disguise complete, Trevor took out a small piece of polished glass to look at his work.  Nice scar, stained teeth, dark hair, tired eyes (that were still mis-matched, he hadn’t figured out a good trick yet to fix that distinguishing feature).  Putting everything away from his makeshift tree bungalow, he lowered himself down.  Once on the forest floor, he knew the
chances of being spotted and heard were much greater; it was the reason he’d spent the night up in the tree in the first place.  Trevor began walking, making no attempt to conceal his steps.

He did not have to wait long.  Within a couple hours of wandering and moaning, breaking every twig as loudly as he could, he soon found himself surrounded by the olive-skinned Elves, black hair straight and simple down their backs.  Virtually every man had strange symbols carved into their bare, muscular arms.  There were at least five of them surrounding him, although Trevor expected several more were hidden nearby.

The leader stepped forward, his demeanor was friendly, even though the other four had curved blades drawn.  None, however, were pointed at him.  Yet.

“Greetings,” Trevor coughed, stumbling slightly before catching himself on a nearby bough.

“You seem lost, friend,” the apparent leader said with a warm smile.  He did not look at all worried about Trevor.  Having posed as a beggar and a stranger before in other places, Trevor was a little taken aback at the complete lack of mistrust on display.  “My name is Cherokum, and we saw you wandering aimlessly through the forest; perhaps we can help.”

“I am grateful for assistance.  I’m out of water, and feel a summer fever coming on.  A short rest from my travels east would do this ol’ body some good.  I’m afraid I don’t have much silver to trade for your trouble, but I’d be grateful for a roof and a meal or two for a couple days, if you can see fit to help me.”  Trevor smiled
weakly before looking down again.

Cherokum said something to the others in the harsh-sounding, Elvish tongue.  Trevor had, of course, studied several languages, including Elvish.  He played dumb, and while he couldn’t understand every word, he picked up the gist:  “stranger,” “few days,” “well-guarded,” “trust,” “sleep,” and “food.”  Trevor suppressed a smile.

After a few minutes, Cherokum stepped forward.  “It is alright.  Even as the world seems to grow darker every day, we Elves do not want to contribute to it.  You shall have rest and food.  We will take you to our forest home in Thalanthalas.  It is not far.”

And I will take home the purple star from around Lady Elyn’s fair neck. 
“Thank you kindly, Cherokum.  I shall be forever grateful.”

~Magi~

“LIONEL!”  Magi screamed.  “Kyle
—who was that?  Where did they go?”  He had taken one look at Lionel, and instantly he was dead.  Bent over the parchment, with Kyle looking over his shoulder, both of them had been completely caught off guard.  Magi thought about casting his Freezing spell or a simple missile spell, but by the time he wrenched his eyes off Lionel and the pool of blood expanding across the marble floor, there was no target in sight.

Before Kyle could answer, Magi cast a spell of protection over them both.  It was a simple
one, and he burned to cast something more aggressive, but it would help.  The words were on his lips as he crushed a marble and threw the dust over Kyle and himself.  As the magic coursed through him, he felt the familiar intoxication that always accompanied his heightened awareness.  Footsteps, ever so soft, were running.  The steady drip of blood from Lionel’s sliced neck pooling on the floor.  The air in the room within the Library tasted
old. 
It was time to leave.

“Kyle
—we have some protection.”  He grabbed the Scroll of Tralatus and his bloodstained copy he had just started and put them both into a pouch inside his robe.  “We need to get out of here and get Sindar.  Now.”

“What about the Keeper of the Books?  What about Lionel’s body?”  Kyle was visibly shaken.

Magi grabbed Kyle’s sleeve and began pulling him forward while he spoke.  “Wyzle—we do not know him.  Maybe he would help us.  Maybe he sent someone to kill us…although it would seem odd to kill Lionel and leave us, don’t you think?  I don’t know.  Everyone we’ve met in this city has been shady.  For all we know, that fish merchant sent Lord Corovant’s servants to come after us again.  Who knows?  But until we know what’s going on, we need to be careful who we trust and who we speak to.”
  Could this be my fault for speaking too freely about our purpose? 
Magi shuddered.  “As for his body, if I could Teleport it back to Brigg, I would.  But I can’t, and we have neither the time nor the energy for a proper burial or to carry it out.  We must leave it.”

Magi and Kyle took one last look at the fallen Ranger
.  Magi noticed that his throat, vocal cords and all, had been sliced clear through, along with the major blood vessels in the neck, which had caused the heavy bleeding.

“
Let’s go,” Magi whispered.  He looked around the room a final time.  On the table lay the open box that held the Scroll of Tralatus.

“Walk quickly
, but do not raise a scene.”  Magi uttered in hushed tones to Kyle as they left the large room.  They began to walk quickly back through the myriad of hallways and gathering rooms.  A couple scribes looked up as they passed.  Thomas, the one who greeted them first, saw them leaving the Library and stopped them.

“Did you find what you were looking for, young men?  Was our Keeper able to help you with your business,” he asked with a friendly smile.

“Uh, yes.  He answered our question.  Thank you.”  Magi tried to shuffle past him.

“Your friend, where is he?  Lionel, I believe he said his name was?”  The scribe seemed intent on engaging them in conversation.  Out of the corner of his eye, Magi saw another scribe stand and look their way.

Magi exchanged a quick look with Kyle, and that was all that was needed between the best friends.  Magi moved slightly to his left and began answering the scribe.

“Yes.  Lionel.  A chatty fellow, wouldn’t you agree?  Always striking up conversations with busy people.  I’m afraid he’s still got some unanswered questions, and as such…”

The two scribes pitched forward, fast asleep from Kyle’s spell.  They moved on and quickly left the Great Library of Gaust.  Across the street was Lord Corovant’s palace.

“Nice work, Mr. Quinlan,” Magi said to Kyle, slightly out of breath.  “C’mon.  Back to the inn.  We have to tell Sindar what happened. 
He better ready to move.  If he’s still hung over…”

T
hrowing their cowls over their heads, they picked up their pace.  Now well into the evening, the moon was a silver sickle in the night sky.  They headed back down to the wharfs and through some of the seedier parts of town to
The Lazy Pour.
  As they approached, Magi put his arm in front of Kyle and stopped him.  “Something’s wrong.”

S
everal soldiers milled about the front of the alehouse, including a couple from last night.  Some guests from the inn had clearly been getting ready for bed when something had happened; many were throwing on clothes more fitting for the day.

Magi approached a middle
-aged woman, and quietly asked what was going on.

“Don’ know
,” she answered. “We was in the Common Room, havin’ a bit to drink.  Me husband and I were jus’ mindin’ our own business—ain’t causin’ no trouble.  Tryin’ to find passage on a ship, but we needs’ to work for the journey, see.  I can clean a ship as good as a man, cook ev’n better.  Me husband’s mute, but tha’s ok, ’cause I speak for us both.  He’s right strong, and can row all day.  A better oarsman you won’ find, I tell you true on that.  Say, you don’ know of a boat tha’ could use a couple extra hands?”  She smiled with a mouth that sported about every other tooth.

Magi smiled gently. “No, ma’am.  Alas, I do not.  But you were saying about the commotion?”

“Oh, yes.  Well, like I says, me and quiet Jon—that’s me husband right here—we was jus’ havin’ a drink and mindin’ our business.  Across the room was this giant man with a great ol’ head a black hair and a thick black beard sittin’ in a corner, canteen in one hand, flagon of ale in the other.  Sittin’ in a dark corner, real suspicious like.  Can’ say he looked too friendly.  Well, we’s jus’ sittin’ there, and then we hear a big thump, didn’ we quiet Jon?  So we look over to the corner, and this man jus’ fell into his food, dead as a stone, I tell you.  Some servin’ girl starts cussin’ at him, tellin’ him to get his arse up, but he wasn’ movin’, was he, Jon?  So I look over at quiet Jon an’ what did I say—I said he’s dead as a stone—didn’ I, Jon?  So I yell at this thick wench ‘the man’s dead.  Probably your lousy food done him in.’  I did too say that to her, didn’ I, Jon—you heard me.  So then she screams, an’ all hell breaks loose.  Well me an’ quiet Jon jus’ try to grab as much food as we can, no use lettin’ it go to waste—hey, where you goin’?”  She yelled after them as Magi and Kyle quickly left the scene.

The one thought that Magi couldn’t shake was simply this: 
why would someone want to kill Lionel and Sindar, but leave us untouched?

~Trevor~

The trail Cherokum followed gradually sloped downward.  Actually it was a bit kind to call the path they traversed a ‘trail;’ it was a meandering walk that deviated suddenly behind certain trees, sometimes behind large stone hillsides, twice through tunnels.  There was nothing logical about the route; they would often zigzag through underbrush when there was an obvious, much easier path to the same point.

Trevor followed Cherokum politely, with about five or six Elven warriors behind him.  It wasn’t until about an hour or two into their hike that the thief caught on; Cherokum was touching nondescript trees, boulders, tunnels, bushes, plants, bridges, etc. as they passed.  Very deliberate, but subtle. 
Almost need the eyes of a Thief to see what he was doing.