In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  “We will rest here today, having sailed and rowed all night. Dawn will soon break behind us. For now we should be undetected by these cliffs and around these large stones. Tonight, after food, rest, and some further study, we’ll head into Ilbindale. We need to find out what those things were rising from the sea.”

  Malenec

  As night fell a day after Malenec plugged up the port, the sky over Ilbindale went through a particularly beautiful transformation. Cerulean blue yielded to orange hues, and the few clouds that evening seemed pink in the fading light. Sharp eyes could see a green flash at sunset over the water, followed by the gradual deepening of rich indigo tones that slowly darkened past violet and finally into clear black. Most every star could be seen, and the moon was the thinnest of slivers in the cold, night sky.

  Malenec pulled a thick, velvety cowl up over his head as he approached a small home on the outskirts of Ilbindale, near one of the main roads leading to and from the city. With him was one undead warrior who was covered head-to-toe in black, save for a finger on each hand.

  “Kuth-Cergor, tonight the town you promised me shall begin to see your power. Let the wall of this home provide no more of an impediment to your servant than if I was to walk through air itself.”

  Believing that the wall was nothing more than gossamer, Malenec stepped through, followed by his zombie. The wall had become an illusion to him.

  At first, the inhabitants did not realize that two figures had walked through a wall and into their home. They were eating, and it looked like there were seven people in the house – at least there were seven in that main room. A good first haul.

  Whispering a silent prayer for silence and immobilization, he saw the look of a young woman, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, look up and see the Cleric and his servant staring at them from the other room. Her eyes grew large as she stared into the folds of Malenec’s hood, unable to see his face in the shadows, but knowing that someone unexpected was staring at her and her family. She dropped her utensil and started to scream, but it never came, a look of terror frozen on her face.

  “Kill them,” he said to his undead servant. Silently the fiend walked up to each person. It reached up and extended a hand, showing one yellowish, misshapen fingernail. The pad of the finger beneath the nail had a bulbous growth that seemed to have a milky-white substance oozing from it, which showed up clearly against the black gloves that covered most of the hand.

  As it came to the first person, it scratched a cheek. It moved to the next and took the same finger and scratched an arm. Around the room every person at the table was scratched once in some form. Finally the zombie returned to stand next to Malenec.

  “Excellent, Genovieve.” He didn’t bother to look at the zombie when he spoke. “Kuth-Cergor, let them move once again so that I may see them die, but I pray that their deaths be silent.” He didn’t bother to close his eyes for this prayer, either.

  Immediately, the bodies unfroze and began falling out of their chairs and onto the ground. The one girl was screaming, but not a sound came from her mouth. One of the men was convulsing on the ground, clawing at his cheek where he had been scratched, but his thrashing was silent. He kicked the table and plates and cups fell silently to the floor. Not a sound came from the entire spectacle.

  In less than one minute, there were seven dead bodies on the ground. Malenec now began the most important prayer in his night of soul-reaping, his voice growing more fervent with each word. “And now Kuth-Cergor, I pray that you deliver their souls to me, bind them up forever within me, that I might own their will to command them according to your will. Raise their flesh, not to the living, but make them undead, that their bodies may obey my wishes until all that remains is ash.”

  At first it began with a twitch from a body. Then a jerky movement. Eyelids popped open. There was a now-familiar rush as seven souls came to take up residence in Malenec. Not in a manner that conflicted with Malenec’s own soul; that wasn’t the case when forming an undead spirit. Furthermore, the victim’s soul was not heavy, and it did not ‘fight back’. It simply found a spot inside Malenec and was bound to the Dark Cleric whose prayer had been answered. So long as Malenec lived, there would be no rest for these souls, and the undead bodies could not resist his commanding will. If I deem that they run into a fire pit, even the ash will be loyal to me. Malenec smiled as seven bodies, including two young children, stood before him. The bodies would now enter a perpetual state of decay from the zombie scratches, making them all just as lethal.

  His final prayer in the house was a pragmatic one. “My God, if my work here tonight pleases you, I pray that you would transform their clothing—shroud your new servants in black, just as Genovieve here wears, that they may pass unseen this night to join your growing family as I continue your work in other houses.”

  The Dark Cleric bowed his head and watched as the boots, pants, shirts—all garments being worn by the new seven undead were now black. Black hoods, black shirts, black pants, black boots, black gloves. There was no exposed flesh anywhere…except for one diseased finger on each hand.

  “Join your family in the woods just outside the city.” Malenec then turned to his servant Genevieve. “Come. We will try our luck in other parts of the city tonight.”

  By dawn the next morning, Malenec had more than three hundred new souls at his command. Better than I could have hoped for the first night.

  Niku

  “Bah! Ain’t no mages worth a spit left in Ilbindale. No chance of gettin’ the damn port back open anytime soon, neither, if you ask me.” A sharp-eyed man in a wool hat and sheepskins had joined Niku and the four warriors by a small fireplace in the corner of a tavern called The Ale’s Tale. Locals called it the Tale. Niku and his group found the place and decided to stay a few nights to see if the common room was full of any information. It did not take long to hear this sailor grumbling to invite him over for conversation.

  “Orin—that is your name, right?” The man in the cap nodded, alternately rubbing his hands by the fire to keep them warm and tipping his rather large mug toward his mouth. “Orin, who runs Ilbindale? Surely there is a plan to re-open the port soon, with winter fast approaching.”

  The man shifted his eyes around, though nobody but the six of them were in earshot, what with the flames cracking the wood next to them and the general din of the common room. Still, he lowered his voice and leaned in. “Lord Bingham runs the city. Most think he’s a fool, but I says he’s just another corrupt noble in a Dark World. What’s he to do, anyhow? As I just said, without a decent mage, how do you get them boats off the bottom of the harbor? Port’s gonna be closed for awhile…that’s why I’m enjoying the ale at the Tale tonight. Won’t take long to run out!” He gave his new friends a little half smile and gave Niku a slight nod. “And thanks for buyin’, stranger.”

  Niku took a very restrained sip and smiled back. He then put on the most inquisitive looking face he could muster. “You know Orin, a True Cleric could raise those ships. There was a time when Urthrax was the home of many Clerics.” He stared at the man to gauge a reaction.

  It was not what Niku was hoping for. Orin just rolled his eyes. “Clerics? Hah! We’ve got every kind of Cleric a man needs running around this land. A True Cleric? You’ve got a better chance of finding gold in the harbor with all them boats than finding one real Cleric. Reckon you need a real god to find a real Cleric, right? Well, there ain’t no god in this bloody Dark World. So if you want the port opened, you’ll have to do it yerself, Mage. Couple of his own mages tried yesterday; I was there at the docks meself. They couldn’t lift a splinter from the water. They might not be from Rookwood, mind you, but they had those same eyes as yours. So Bingham has a few real ones on his staff, though they’re worthless if you ask me. If you think you’re good, go talk to Lord Bingham and make him an offer. The man has gold, I guarantee you that. And he wants that port open, I’m sure, since that’s what keeps the gold comin’ in. No port, no trade. No trade, no gold. Sim
ple as that. Meanwhile, fools are jumpin’ in the sea to swim for coppers, silverware, barrels, and so forth. So far only thing anyone’s brought up is a damn cold. Hah!”

  Niku smiled and motioned the barkeep to bring over another round of pints. Rhee and the others were watching the room and Orin carefully. “You know, I heard about the treasure hunting at the docks, and took a look myself. I’m not terribly surprised that no one has found riches on these ships yet. But I do find one thing odd, Orin. Don’t you find it strange that not a single body has been discovered from all those ships that sunk in one night? That, I would think, would be the first thing people found, either because they floated up, or the divers found them in the cabins. Have you heard of any bodies being discovered?”

  Orin shook his head slowly and drained the last of his ale just as the next round came and he proceeded to take a fourth of that mug down in one long pull. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sheepskin sleeves, he leaned even closer to Niku, whispering. “Aye. But that’s not the only strange thing I’ve heard.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s been whisperin’ of some folks disappearing. Whole families, different parts of the city. Nobody I know, and I’m hearin’ it from drunken treasure divers who heard it from someone else. I dunno. But…” He paused.

  “Yes?” Niku leaned closer.

  “Stranger, I don’t know what you’re here for. Can’t say we get a lot of visitors from Rookwood, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a fancy mage come into town. But I will say this: somethin’ strange is going on. Those ships didn’t sink in a storm, those bodies didn’t just disappear, and them families ain’t vanishing on their own neither. And now you show up talkin’ bout True Clerics and runnin’ with no less than four True Warriors bodyguards, or I’m an Elf. All this is connected somehow. I thank you for buyin’ me some ale and all, but I’ll be headin’ out now, if it’s all the same to you.” He finished his second mug quickly and gave Niku a curt nod.

  “Orin…just one more question before you go.” Niku stood up to let the man pass by.

  “Ok.”

  “If your Lord’s mages are weak, and you get no ‘fancy mages’ to visit, than who do you think sunk those boats? As you said…they didn’t sink in a storm.”

  Orin just looked at Niku, narrowing his eyes. “Hell if I know. Maybe you did.” He gave Niku the faintest smile and wrapped himself tighter in his sheepskin against the cold outside, not even bothering to turn around.

  Niku sat back down by the fire and took a healthy swig of his honey-wine. “Well, we’ve learned something tonight.”

  “And what is that?” asked Rhee.

  “Given what we saw and what we just heard, I’m convinced there is a True Cleric here. Even a novice mage could levitate enough of the boats to stir the water, and most could raise the ships. Certainly a True Mage could, and he said the True Mages failed.”

  “Why does that mean there’s a True Cleric here?”

  Niku finished his wine, and called for water to clear his head. “Because this Lord Bingham has all the incentive in Tenebrae to keep the port active, not plugged. The city won’t survive a winter if the port doesn’t re-open. Don’t you see? It must either be a very powerful Archmage, or a True Cleric, which is holding those ships down against the best efforts of this Lord Bingham’s mages to get it reopened. Given the bodies we saw crawling out of the water, plus the message from the Elf that our Queen spoke with, and I think it’s only reasonable to conclude we’re dealing with a True Cleric, and I think I know what he or she is doing.”

  Rhee started nodding slowly, her eyes widening. “This unholy priest is building an army.”

  “An undead army.” Niku smelled the water and tasted it. He wrinkled his nose. “Come. Let us head back to our rooms…we have much to discuss if we’re going to figure out how to capture this rogue Cleric before everyone in Ilbindale ends up enlisted against their will.”

  Malenec

  The disappearing people were now a topic throughout the city, and Malenec knew he would need to guard the exits. In the last four nights, he had raised more than 1100 men, women, and children, bringing his army to over 1300 in total counting the sailors. While he had secretly hoped for closer to two thousand, he couldn’t risk it. Already some families were starting to slip out at night of the city on horseback. He sent a handful of sentinels to chase them down. They never tired, never rested, and could run forever…so what his sentinels lacked in top speed, they more than made up for it with stamina. Besides—the few families that left were leaving stealthily, not speedily. Probably headed for Shu-Tybor, the nearest city. If they knew what lurked there, they might prefer service in my army. He smiled and dispatched a handful to chase them all down and carry their corpses back to him. I’ll be shocked if they last two days.

  But now the reality that he must barricade the city in was undeniable. He broke his army into thirds, with three hundred warriors marching at dusk to the southern, eastern, and western gates of the city. When people saw the wave of black approaching, most fled to their houses. It did not take Lord Bingham to dispatch a small battery of knights to the gates, along with a True Mage riding from the rear.

  If he had dispatched all three at the same time, the noble might have punched through. As it was, he was unprepared and each group of knights attacked at slightly different times. Malenec looked at the approaching knights and knew that the True Mage would be the greatest threat. He needed to strike before the mage figured out what they were fighting.

  “My god, I pray that lightning announces your return to Tenebrae, with a bolt that strikes at the heart of this Mage who would defy your plans!”

  A sudden dark cloud formed over the approaching knights on the eastern front, and lightening began to crackle in the otherwise clear, twilight sky. Rolling thunder that sounded almost like laughter began to echo off the buildings, and the mounts began to lose their heads, causing the knights to break formation and some to dismount. A single bolt of yellow lighting struck a red-cloaked figure in the distance, riding behind the knights. The body collapsed and fell to the ground, with knights flying off their horses to take a look.

  This same prayer was repeated twice more, once at the southern gates, and a third time at the western edge of the city. Three bolts, three dead True Mages. A fourth True Mage also appeared at the western edge of the city, surrounded by a small group of mounted warriors. Again Malenec called on his lightning, and once again the True Mage flew off the horse where he was quickly tended to by the four warriors around him. Another threat removed. Malenec travelled effortlessly across the city, his faith teleporting him faster than any spell could.

  It did not take long for the knights to attack, but they did not know what they were fighting. None thought about raising a torch toward the army—their focus was on spears, lances, and long swords. Limbs were cut off and reattached. Spears went through them like skewers on raw meat, and all they did was come closer to the hand that wielded it. Scratches, biting, spitting—the undead warriors kept coming, and when the first knights died and were raised right there on the city gates in front of their companions, it did not take long for even the bravest knights to fall back. Cries of “Protect the Lord!”, “To Bingham!”, and “Save the People!” could be heard as several knights fell back toward the city center, where Lord Bingham was likely housed.

  Malenec counted an additional seventy-five undead knights across the three skirmishes. His prayer rituals complete, he stood staring at the newest members of his army, their black armor reflecting the rich light of the new moon. These black knights are a fearsome thing, for sure. He split them up, placed them in front as their armor might hold up to fire better than others, and he walked straight into the city, still before midnight, not even bothering to conceal his movements any longer. He was flanked by two of his undead servants.

  Believing his force would hold people in, he didn’t worry about a panic any longer. The city was awakened by the knights and the fighting. H
e could be much more systematic now, moving east to west in rows throughout the city. He entered every building by softening the walls, and began moving room to room, laying eyes on people and praying for their immobilization. House-by-house, even the taverns and pubs, shops and farms, storage and forge, sweeping streets and even Lord Bingham’s dwelling—all fell to his undead warriors, and all were raised moments later. He lost count after two thousand; the killing had become incredibly proficient.

  This continued for over two weeks, until now there were more undead than alive in Ilbindale. His army of undead warriors had swelled to over 25,000, most of whom were situated like statues at the various exits. Some patrolled the surrounding forests, and others accompanied Malenec on his nightly reapings.

  Somewhat paradoxically, however, his prayers began to suffer late into the wee hours of the morning after weeks of success. The more routine they became, the less ‘faith’ he exerted, and consequently the results began to suffer. Malenec expected the prayers to be answered, having seen his god working on his behalf all week. But as he had more success, his concentration began to slip; he became less humble, less awestruck. He was, after all, Malenec, a True Cleric of Kuth-Cergor. As a mage must ‘pour’ their energy into a spell, so, too, must a cleric ‘pour’ their faith into a prayer. The greater the faith, the stronger the result, as it is with magic. And Malenec simply wasn’t trying as hard. One woman freed herself from his immobilization prayer and ran out of the house screaming before she could be scratched. He dispatched one of his warriors to chase her.

  “This shall be our last home tonight, Genevieve. I grow tired.” It even took a second prayer to soften the wall of this house, his first one being unsuccessful as he walked face first into the wood and stone. He prayed more fervently.

  “Kuth-Cergor, I demand you remove this wall for me! I am your True Cleric, Malenec, and it is for your army that I reach into these homes tonight. You have denied me none yet; do not start now. Make of this wall an illusion and let me pass!”