In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  Again with the table-turning. This one is not intimidated by anyone. “Maybe it is surprising because there are so few female Master Assassins.”

  Veronica didn’t miss a beat. “And that would make me special, would it not?” She smiled and leisurely reached across her lithe body for a glass of dark liquid, perhaps wine, on a short table next to her.

  Silverfist was right about one thing…she is special. One of the most intriguing women I’ve ever spoken to. Xaro stood up. “I guess the last question I have is simply this: My terms are 5,000 silver pieces per contract, and you kill only for me. Is this acceptable?”

  “My contract rate is 5,000 in gold, Xaro. I will take your contracts at that rate.” She sipped her drink, looking about as agitated as if she was negotiating a price for a piece of fresh fish.

  Everyone wants gold, it seems. So be it. My thief may have more work than he can handle when he returns from his first assignment. “Very well, gold it shall be. We are agreed.”

  Veronica nodded. “Now, if I may, I have one question for you. I have heard you are a Warrior/Mage, and Silver has even mentioned showing you some of our craft. Why do you need an Assassin, Master?” As she sipped the dark liquid, it made such a striking contrast against her pale cheeks.

  Xaro enjoyed the blatant flattery. If she is as deadly as she is beautiful, my enemies don’t stand a chance. “I need an Assassin because the man you are going to kill is in Elvidor, and I am needed here at Sands End. His name is Strongiron, and if he doesn’t already command the Queen’s army, he soon will.” And he’s the bloody heir to that oh-so-noble Knight, Peace-Arm, and the Tuitio riches. “I can’t imagine the Queen appointing anyone else, now that he’s a True Warrior.”

  Magi

  Magi was distraught. How could he lose his ring? To make matters worse, Marik was extremely upset.

  “Where did you take it off?” he asked. They had ridden through the night, Venatus wanting to put as much distance between Fostler and themselves as possible before resting. Being familiar with the terrain, he had led them east, deeper into the forest along some game trails and across several creek beds. As dawn was about to break on the other side of the Crystal Mountains, still shielded by a thick canopy of trees, they decided to make camp and give the horses some rest and time to eat. Their magical glow balls gave some light to help the horses pick their way, but no heat. It would be a cold breakfast, and all were exhausted. “Where did you take it off, Magi?” Marik asked pointedly again, chewing some salted pork.

  Magi shook his head, still ashamed and crestfallen. The only token he had from his father. He didn’t even know what the man looked like. Just a stupid tree and this ring—that’s all he had to evoke any feeling about his Mom or Dad. Marik was the only parent he’d ever known. “I don’t know, Master. I never take it off.”

  Kyle was extremely tired, having almost fallen asleep in his saddle twice. He looked terrible, and was struggling to stay awake. “Could it have been stolen?”

  Magi looked at his best friend. “Right off my finger? C’mon, Kyle.”

  Only Venatus looked as fresh as a sunrise, eyes alert. “Marik, we cannot stay here long. We must press on. Tell me what happened, now that we have stopped briefly.”

  “Apparently my two students lack the sense to stay together. You visited one of the gypsies, Kyle.” Marik was not asking a question.

  “I did. I thought they might be able to tell me something else about my Prophecy. I thought they might be able to tell Magi something, too, saving us the trouble—”

  “You fool.” It was the first time Magi had heard Marik call one of his students a fool. It stung. “Half the gypsies are pickpockets, the other half are liars, and they’re all charlatans. The one you visited—the one wearing a red cloak—he was a second-rate illusionist. But he was a first-rate hypnotist. You fell under his spell, and he created the illusion that you were a unicorn, using the Fair as cover, where no one would suspect a unicorn as being out of place. I’m sure he was hoping you wouldn’t be missed, so he could keep you, brainwash you, and eventually train you as an apprentice. I, however, have a unicorn, as you know. I could tell that something was odd—even for a Fair. They are very rare. Had I not sensed a deception, your life as the newest member of their gypsy clan would have begun last night.”

  He turned back to Magi. “When was the last time you remember seeing your ring?”

  Magi was still processing what almost happened to Kyle. That close. “I—I don’t know, Master. I feel naked without it.” He looked up at Marik.

  Marik narrowed his white eyes. How does he see with those things? The True Mage exhaled. “Well, it’s gone. You’ll have to save up enough money to buy a new one, if you care about such things.” He finished his breakfast of salted pork and dried pears, and stood up to head out.

  “Yes, it is time, Marik. Let’s head out, my young mages.” Venatus took the cue and began to get the horses. All Kyle wanted to do is sleep. All Magi wanted to do was head back to Fostler and retrace his steps. Yet they both got up and started to gather their things. One thing was bothering Magi.

  “Master,” he called out. Marik turned around. “Was my ring magical? What was it?”

  Marik stared at Magi for several seconds. Finally, he smiled. “No, Magi. But it was an unusual and sentimental heirloom. I’m sorry it’s gone.” He turned around and kept walking.

  I still feel naked.

  Magi

  The group continued, but began heading west. As they did, the terrain began to flatten, with fewer trees.

  “Why are we heading toward the water, Master? I thought we needed to keep heading South through the Finger.” Magi was happy Kyle was able to pay attention to their direction…he must slowly be getting his bearings back after a few more days of dreary travel. The gypsy had done a number on him, for sure.

  Venatus answered. “The woods south of Fostler are incredibly dense—impassable for horses, and certainly impassable with speed. There is a hamlet on the coast of the Sea here, hardly more than a dozen villagers grouped together. But the miller owns a flat boat, large enough for the four of us and our horses. He doesn’t advertise it, but for the right price, he’ll give us a lift across the inlet, skirting around the deep woods. If all goes well, we should arrive a few days’ ride from Briz, the third village of Fingers. We’ll have to cross Elf’s Bane Pass near the southern edge of the Crystal Mountains, but from there we’ll have a relatively easy ride to Shith.”

  That seemed like more information than Kyle wanted or needed. He just nodded and kept following. Soon the familiar scent of sea salt filled the air, and some smoke could be seen curling upward from crude chimneys. As the sea came into view, so did a series of fields and a handful of farmhouses next to it. A large smitty pounded a piece of metal out on an anvil—the sound did nothing to ease the throbbing in their heads from sleep deprivation. The afternoon sun was high in the air, but it was getting cooler. Whether it was the advent of a seasonal shift toward winter or just the cool sea air, Magi wasn’t sure. But it was definitely getting colder.

  They slowed their mounts to a walk, and Magi saw Venatus nod at the smith as they passed. A creek, shallow but fast moving, ran into the sea, and next to the running water was the miller. “Wait here,” was all Venatus said. Marik never took his eyes off him.

  A large man, bald and red-faced, limped over to greet the Ranger as he approached. Venatus said a few words, and they exchanged a warm handshake. After a few minutes, they both approached the three riders, and Venatus introduced his friend.

  “Master Marik, this is Elmon. I’ve known him for some time now. He’s a talented Miller, but more important, he’s agreed to transport us across the inlet.”

  Elmon rubbed his hands together. “Happy to make your acquaintance, good sir. We don’t get True Mages to visit us very often. Perhaps you and your friends would consider staying for a few days before we sail?”

  Marik smiled and said simply, “Thank you for the offer, but we ca
nnot stay more than a day. But we would gladly take you up on your offer of a room. We haven’t slept in two days and all of us, including our horses, could use some rest. Can we set off tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Of course, of course. Please—come with me. You’ll find our house small and warm, like our food.” He winked, and led them slowly down to his house. Marik fell in next to Venatus and asked how much this would cost them.

  “Oh, that depends. I told him you could heal his leg. I reckon if you can take care of that, we might get out of this with our gold intact. Otherwise, be prepared to dig deep into your pouch.” The Ranger patted Marik on the back, smiling nonchalantly, like only a man spending another man’s money could.

  Xaro

  Xaro never enjoyed his meetings with the fourth member of his small council. His Dark Cleric, Malenec, served as a constant reminder of the one power that had been granted another and withheld him by his God: the power to raise the dead. It has always been the final test of a True Cleric’s faith.

  Centuries ago, when True Clerics still existed, there were some who worshipped Kuth-Cergor. These Clerics, commonly referred to as “Dark” Clerics, had the power to animate the dead. Xaro didn’t like thinking about the other God, because in his mind there was only room for Kuth-Cergor. But intellectually, he knew there was another. Her name is Dymetra, and in an honest moment, he would admit that She was the equal of his God. True Clerics of old also prayed to Her, and when their prayers over the dead were answered, they could bring them back to life—not as undead bodies, but as living creatures once again. And if he was even more honest with himself, he would admit that he coveted both of these powers.

  But he possessed neither.

  Xaro frowned. Prayers to animate the dead may not get answered every time or in every situation, much like every spell he wove didn’t always work…but the power to do so must be demonstrated if one is to be a True Cleric.

  Malenec, however, could animate the dead—and it infuriated Xaro, in part because his Dark Cleric would never let him forget his failure. In every other Clerical way, he and Malenec were equal. They both shared knowledge of the truth about the ancient Gods: The world believed that God abandoned Man, creating a Dark World. In fact it was the other way around—Man stopped worshipping God, and left to our own devices, the world grew dark. Kuth-Cergor would reorder things, bring wisdom and Godly-fear back, and Xaro would rule underneath him.

  They both had been divinely led to the ancient Tower of Dariez, ancestral home to the True Clerics. They both studied there and received training from the last True Clerics on Tenebrae; three Elves, guardians of the faith. At first it appeared that all three of them were devout followers of Dymetra. But over time one of them revealed a different philosophy. They spent the bulk of their time with the third Elf, who was secretly a devotee of Kuth-Cergor.

  They both passed all of their tests of basic healing, of logic and judgment. They learned languages and history and the geography of Tenebrae, and mastered prayers to control the four elements to do their bidding: Soil, Water, Fire, and Air. And they both mastered the most advanced prayers: the summoning and binding of spirits.

  But the Final test was where they deviated. Kuth-Cergor answered Malenec’s prayer to animate the dead. One day, Malenec attacked and killed their mentor—the last Dark Cleric—then raised him to make his first undead warrior in the name of Kuth-Cergor. He was a soulless zombie that would do Malenec’s bidding; Xaro had witnessed it all with his own eyes. He remembered how the other two Clerics were aghast when they found out. They both prayed to Her, and the third Elf was restored to life against the wishes of Malenec, and presumably Kuth-Cergor. He became a follower of Dymetra without reservation or deception…almost as if that had been Her plan all along, thought Xaro. Malenec was forced to leave, outcast. But he was a True Cleric and an unapologetic Dark one at that—of that, there was no doubt.

  Xaro paused in his memory, looking out over the dust storm that was forcing everyone to scurry back inside the castle. He sighed. Why wouldn’t you grant me the same power, Master?

  Procrastinating a bit, he continued his trip down memory lane. He recalled his final days in Dariez. His former teachers, the three True Clerics would have nothing to do with him, and asked him to leave as well after casting Malenec from the Tower, for the one knew that he shared Malenec’s heart when it came to worship. Before he left, he couldn’t help but to try the exact same thing. Finding that same Elf alone (the one who used to teach both he and Malenec all the ways of Kuth-Cergor), Xaro also killed him, just as Malenec had done. Xaro was already a True Mage; it was easy enough. But when he tried to raise him from the dead as Malenec had, he failed. He prayed incessantly for hours before he was discovered, and the other two were again aghast that their colleague had been murdered twice. Xaro was outcast immediately from the Tower. He never found out whether the Elf had been raised yet again by the other Clerics, if that was even possible.

  Since that day Xaro had killed dozens of men, often just to practice his prayers, and was unsuccessful every time; he had never raised one corpse. Malenec could now do it without fail.

  Sighing, he finally lost himself to his Art, trying to content himself with the talents he possessed and which Malenec lacked. He scattered the black dust again, waiting for the outline of his Dark Cleric to begin to take shape and fill in. It was time for his update with him.

  Magi

  It was, in fact, a couple days later when Marik, Magi, Kyle, and Venatus finally left the village. Marik looked at Elmon’s leg—it was grotesque. Swollen and covered with sores, it would have to be removed if the Miller was to live. Leprosy, a plague, or something worse—Marik could not say. Elmon was quarantined by his other villagers, and nobody would buy his mead or eat his bread. The Smitty was insisting that they take the leg—nobody wanted a disease such as this in their midst, especially in such a small village. And True Clerics, like the Deities they called upon, were all but nonexistent.

  Though Marik was not as gifted at healing as a True Cleric, he was not without talent. He crushed some dry leaves over the leg and called forth his magic. Kyle and Magi watched, familiar with the spell themselves, though always somewhat impressed at the power Marik wielded. The dry leaves smoldered and ashed as the open wounds closed, the sores evaporated, and the disease began to retreat. His flesh slowly began to resemble that of a normal leg. The Smitty, who Venatus also knew, was on hand to see—standing ready with an axe if the spell should fail. As the magic dissipated, Marik exhaled and sat down, clearly tired.

  “And now, let me sleep. All of us, especially the spellcasters—” he winked at Magi and Kyle, “could use a full day’s rest, as could your friend Elmon. Venatus, I trust we’ll not need a watch under your friend’s roof?” Venatus just looked at the transfiguration of the man’s leg and shook his head, speechless.

  “Never seen anything like that in my life. Probably never will again,” was all the Smitty said as he walked back to his forge. The only sound in the room now was the Miller’s snores.

  That was two days ago. Grateful for the healing, Elmon was happy to outfit them with fresh supplies as they loaded up the “boat.” Calling it a flatbed boat would be an insult to rafts. In the end, Kyle cast a calming spell over all four horses just to get them on board. They pushed off mid-morning and hoisted a small sail.

  “Shouldn’t be but one night on board and we’ll get you across in no time!” Elmon still walked with a limp, and always would—some of the damage caused by the disease was permanent, and beyond the limits of magic to address. But the disease was contained, his leg was saved, and Elmon was pain free for the first time in almost a year. Magi could hear the gratitude in his voice.

  Marik just smiled, looking refreshed from his sleep. They set out into the wide inlet, unable to even see the other side. They had to go fairly far due to the weight of the passengers and cargo; a slight jaunt around the shoreline really wasn’t an option. Marik drew his travelling cloak tighter around hi
mself; it was definitely much colder than it had been several days ago.

  As they sailed into the late evening, the diffused light from the sun (which had been hidden behind thick grey clouds all afternoon) faded even further, and Magi was forced to cast a glow ball. The wind began to pick up, and the first distant flash of lightning to the west drew everyone’s attention. Venatus suggested heading back, but they were halfway there—there was no certainty that they would make it back before the storm hit anyhow. They couldn’t see the shoreline, but Venatus knew it was a sheer rock wall and useless for disembarking, let alone with horses. They pushed on, lowering the sail and manning some crude oars.

  The clouds opened up so suddenly that they were caught off-guard. “Strap down the gear!” Marik shouted. The raft began to rock and the horses, despite the calming effect of Kyle’s spell, grew restless. Lightning gave them a glimpse of the rising waves as the thunder followed almost immediately after the flash.

  The inlets around and between all the peninsulas in the Three Fingers were all fairly shallow. The storm whipped up the shallow sea into incredibly choppy water, and the raft creaked and pitched back and forth. The rails on either side of their boat kept no water in or out, and also didn’t stop anything from sliding from one end to the other. Some of their supplies began to fall into the icy water as the cold rain pelted them. “Tie it down!” Marik yelled as he fought to stay standing on the tilting deck.

  Venatus was frantically tying knots when a massive wave crashed over him and sent him sliding across the deck. He grabbed a rail to avoid falling into the water. Magi reached out and pulled him back to his knees as they both tried to crawl to the center of the boat. The next wave crashed into Elmon, who had no chance to keep his balance, and was swept into the sea.