In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  Still crawling on his knees, in part because of the beatings, in part because of the rough seas, and also in no small part from the spinning in his head due to the ale, he made his way back to the cell door. Focus, you fool. He forced himself to stand, and it took him less than a minute to pick the unfamiliar lock in total darkness. He would have smiled if he wasn’t bloody, naked, freezing, and facing death in the middle of the sea during a raging thunderstorm.

  I need to get that ring…and my jewel. And I’d really like my shoes back, too. Actually, I want it all back.

  He climbed the stairs leading to the trapdoor, opening it slightly to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the light and to peek out, looking to see who might be close by. He didn’t have a plan, nor did he have the time or the mental wherewithal to make one. Gotta make this one up as you go, Trevor Blink.

  He saw one of the men with whom he had thrown dice earlier standing by the rail, working on some rigging near the stern. Men shouted all over the place as they worked to lower the sails in the sudden storm. Rain pelted the deck, and lightning flashed continually.

  Well, Trevor, might be the only chance you’ve got. On the next thunderclap, he lifted the trapdoor and sprung forward. He came upon the man by the rail from behind, and used a stranglehold to silently crush his windpipe. And they say only Assassins know how to kill. Hah!

  He pulled the body quickly behind some barrels nailed to the deck and immediately disrobed him, took his clothes (though they were too big), and stuffed him into one of the barrels.

  He felt the inside of the man’s pockets, and to his luck…he felt the jewel. This was the guy who had taken it.

  You have a choice to make now, Trevor. The idea of dropping a lifeboat into the water during the storm was his best chance of getting away from the Modest Mermaid. The little dingy was tied up just a few feet from him…everyone else was toward the bow of the boat.

  No. You have to at least try and get the ring. Xaro will be furious if you don’t have it. It is, after all, what he paid you to do. Trevor rolled up his sleeves and pants, pulled the dead sailors cap low to his face, and began walking around the deck in the driving rain and chaos, trying to look inconspicuous.

  “Bronson! Did you get that rigging?” It sounded like Helmut yelling down from the wheel.

  “Aye,” he mumbled, walking faster, hoping nobody looked close at the fact that Bronson was a good six inches shorter than usual. With the rocking of the boat, the rain, and the darkness, he took his chances.

  Helmut just grunted and kept pushing on the wheel, straining to keep a course. Lighting flashed, and Trevor stole a quick look as he passed 15 feet away: a silver ring briefly sparkled on one of the fingers on his right hand as he gripped the wheel tightly.

  Stealing a ring off the finger of an unsuspecting teenager in a crowd during a village fair was a challenge. Stealing a ring off the finger of a seasoned sailor gripping the wheel of a boat during the middle of a winter storm is…impossible. Even for me. If I try and kill him, and succeed, there is no chance I’ll get off the boat. The boat will spin wildly, the sailors will converge, and I will be killed before I even reach the dingy tied to the stern. And if by some miracle I make it to the rowboat, they will simply turn the ship around, chase me down, and kill me that way. I will lose all chance of a future surprise, and Xaro’s ring will end up at the bottom of the sea.

  Glumly, Trevor carefully avoided eye contact with the other sailors and returned to Bronson’s post at the stern. His only chance of getting the ring back was to track down Helmut in some port. He apparently was a creature of habit when it came to his time ashore; all the dockworkers knew he liked to hang out at The Lazy Pour in Gaust. It was his best chance at finding him again on even footing.

  Trevor took another quick look around the stern. Apparently my luck hasn’t completely run out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soggy pile of clothes, including his shoes, lying on the other side of the stern where they had thrown dice earlier. Apparently with the advent of the sudden storm, they hadn’t gone through them much. He nonchalantly walked over and, looking around again, slipped them on.

  “What the hell are you doing, Bronson?”

  Another sailor had walked up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder, which unexpectedly felt about six inches higher than a moment before. “What the—”

  Trevor spun around with the small sailor’s knife that he took from Bronson’s corpse and slashed the man’s throat expertly. He uttered no further sound as Trevor cradled the body and laid him down gently to avoid a thud.

  The problem was that the body was clearly visible. That, and every man was needed in the storm. The time for dragging bodies was over. It was now or never. Bronson and the sailor he just killed were going to be missed, and soon. Trevor grabbed a canvas that covered the life boat and threw it over the dead body to hopefully buy a few more minutes. Every extra minute his escape went undiscovered gave him more time to get outside the light radius of the ship—disappearing into a raging sea of darkness should they try and search for him. He hoped if enough time passed, Helmut and the Captain would figure it to be a fool’s mission that they wouldn’t risk, given their pricey cargo and the weather. He loosened the ropes holding the small boat in place to the hull of the Mermaid, and it began to rock and thud against the larger ship. Fortunately for Trevor, the sounds were muffled by the storm. Just one last mighty peal of thunder…

  An intense flash of lighting illuminated the sky briefly, and Trevor didn’t wait for the thunderclap that he knew was coming next. He severed the final rope holding the lifeboat above the water.

  His small dingy struck the water with a loud splash just as the thunder roared, drowning everything else out. The seas were tumultuous, and he immediately grabbed the oars and began paddling for his life…in the opposite direction from the Mermaid.

  Herodius

  “Spread the word, Mikel. Have the men head to the edge of the swamp, to the old boats they brought us here with. Go! There is one more thing I must do.” Mikel nodded and began telling the other Islanders to head out of camp, toward the delta where the boats were anchored just outside the shallows, where the ground turned into muck.

  Racing toward the supply tents, Herodius quickly found what he was looking for: lantern oil. He punched a hole in one small barrel and began spilling a long line behind the Islanders, in the path of their retreat. He did this again and again, grabbing a few fellow Islanders to help him while the rest fought four and five on one skirmishes to occupy their poisoned captors.

  “STOP THEM!” Tar-Tan, the Warrior General, bellowed. Herodius heard his unmistakable voice and locked in on his beady, yellow eyes for a long second. He saw five Islanders positioned around the gargantuan half-ogre, armed with spears to try and keep him occupied. There were easily twenty men dead or dying on the soggy ground around the General’s feet. The ogre then vomited and continued swinging a massive sword, shattering the shafts of several spears in a single sweeping arc. So the spidergrass affects him, too. If only it affected him more!

  Herodius emptied the last barrel of lantern oil and shouted for a retreat. Not any retreat, but a sprint. “Run! Run and do not look back! To the delta!” He waited as long as he could to give as many Islanders as possible a chance to pass the line. Not yet. Wait for it. Wait. Patience. Almost. “RUN!” He shouted again.

  Mikel came limping past him in an awkward half-run, a nasty gash in his thigh bleeding heavily with every step. It didn’t stop him from flashing Herodius a smile as he labored past. “Do it, my friend!”

  Herodius lit the oil. A wall of flame sprung up immediately, spreading a thousand yards wide. Flammable swamp gas began exploding as well, and cries of agony began filling the night air as both Islanders and their captors burned in the rapidly spreading flames. The entire bog began to reek of burning flesh, burning foliage, burning insects. If death has a smell, this is surely it.

  The last image of the battlefield Herodius saw was the steely g
aze of Tar-Tan, who was staring at him through the twenty-foot high flames. Not even he would dare plunge through that. Through the smoke and the intense haze of the heat, Herodius thought he saw the General curl his lip in a sneer, but he couldn’t be sure. He heard him shouting something, and Herodius wasted no more time. We must be on the boats before they get around the flame wall.

  “To me!” he yelled, easily catching up with the mass of Islanders. “Follow me!” And he led the way to the delta, the ground getting softer with each step. It will be soft for them in their heavy armor, too.

  “Do not delay. Keep running!” And they ran, limped, stumbled, walked, and those that couldn’t make it begged to be killed rather than left. Instead, the strong carried the weak; Herodius himself was plowing through the bog with Mikel on his back and Mika right beside them. This went on for several days, stopping only briefly to eat, to drink, to change bandages.

  Finally, they came to the water. It’s now time. Time for everyone to make a choice. He gently set his friend down to be tended by his wife while he addressed the remnant of the Islanders who had made it this far, roughly 10,000 strong men, and some women. Herodius had one final surprise in store for them. He climbed atop one of the few rocks in order to be heard by all. The sun had just set after the third day from their revolt. The purplish/orange glow of early dusk radiated across the open water behind Herodius.

  “Men! Women! We have made it to these boats. Pray to whatever Gods you believe in for mercy for our fellow Islanders. Better for them had we slaughtered them ourselves than leave them in captivity to bear the Ogre’s fury over our escape.”

  He paused, situated atop the large rock, staring out over the Dead Marsh and the thousands of countrymen that had followed him. Every one of them was covered in muck, and haggard from the lack of sleep.

  “Now we have a choice. I am no chieftain, no elder. Each of you may decide for yourselves what your plan is. But this is what I know. For many of us, our families have been slaughtered by this evil giant. What little food we have may feed us for two weeks, three if we ration them. As you know, these boats have been hastily built, fine for short sea voyages, but our captors would not sail them any further than they had to, which is why they took us to this plague-infested swamp in the first place.

  “I also know this: war is coming. We were taken to fight for a cause we had no part in. That will not stop our former captors. One stronger than that beast who enslaved us is plotting against a distant land, a land called Elvidor, ruled by a Queen.

  “We are a peaceful people, yet they trained us to fight. It has been said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, if this Queen opposes the Ogre and his Master, then I would count her and Elvidor as friends. And I plan to travel there, on these rickety boats..with not nearly enough food.

  “I will not ask any of you to follow me. You may go back to the Isles. I know many of you hold out hope that your family might have been spared the slaughter. I do not hold out that hope. If you go back, defend your homes when the Ogre returns, for he will. The Isles hold nothing for me anymore. My path will likely lead to starvation or shipwreck or both. So be it. Our captors spoke of an ancient God. Well, it is in some God’s hands whether I make it or not. I would not ask any of you to join me. But if I can reach this Queen, perhaps I can warn her and help defeat this evil that has brought death, torture, pain, suffering, disease, and war to our doorstep.

  “Today, the Isles recognize they are part of Tenebrae. Today we answer, not because we are called, but in spite of the fact that we are not. For me, the alternative is waiting for death to break over the islands on black ships with sorcerers and steel and worse. I will take my chances heading east. May old Gods and new protect you all in whatever path you take.”

  To his surprise, Herodius watched as nine out of every ten men joined him. The next morning, more than nine thousand Islanders set sail east, heading for some far away place called Rookwood, with no sign of the General or his men behind them.

  CHAPTER 16: IF IGNORANCE IS BLISS, IS KNOWLEDGE MISERY?

  Veronica

  The feel of wind on her face was almost intoxicating. It was freezing outside, but Veronica could care less. Having followed the map uneventfully through the remaining caves, she emerged unceremoniously a week later—at least it felt like a week, she couldn’t be sure. Like her entrance into the mountains, she passed through another perfect rock-face illusion to exit.

  As she made her way down from the foothills, she came upon a river that was showing the first signs of ice. Below her stretched an enormous body of water that eerily did not ripple. At all. “Lake Calm,” she said out loud.

  The sun was high overhead, but it gave little warmth. She kept descending out of the mountains, following a path on which one would have to practically be standing in order to find. As she came to sea level, the wind abruptly stopped. Everything was completely quiet as she approached the water. She peered into it, but could see nothing except her reflection. Odd that it had not frozen over yet; it is freezing out here. Her disguise was still intact, but she decided that as she moved closer to Rookwood Castle, she would need all her feminine attributes. She plunged her head into the water and decided to restore her natural face—Veronica-the-Beauty.

  The water was bracing—even a bit salty—but it seemed clean. It was then that she felt the familiar tingle. He calls. Xaro was summoning her from a continent away. She found a place by the water that seemed decent enough for a fire, and after a short while she sat down, damp hair and all, to update her Master.

  “Veronica…so good of you to join us.” The shimmering image of Xaro was projected opposite the campfire, as was Marik, Trevor, Malenec, and Tar-Tan. “I was beginning to think you had more important things to do than to council with us.”

  “No, Master. Just warming myself. The weather has turned.” Veronica smiled pleasantly at Xaro. He looks handsome, tonight. How much more—interesting—this contract would be if you were here travelling with me.

  “Indeed it has, except at Sands End. You will find it as hot as ever here.” Xaro smiled back, while Tar-Tan cleared his throat.

  “Master, may we provide you our updates?” The giant warrior seemed to shift, almost in rhythm with the dancing campfire flames. “There is still much to be done this day.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Let us start with you, my warrior General. How goes the march?” Xaro pried his eyes away from Veronica to stare at Tar-Tan.

  “It goes slowly, Master. We have suffered some—losses.” The half-ogre stopped.

  “Losses? These are slaves we are talking about, are we not?” Xaro’s eyes seemed to narrow, but it was difficult to tell, as his image was constantly shimmering. This ought to be good, Veronica thought.

  “There was a revolt. We tried to contain it, but some men escaped into the Dead Marsh, and I did not wish to throw good men after bad in a lost cause. The swamp consumed some, but that was not the end of it.” The True Warrior took a deep breath and continued. “The revolt on the banks of the swamp did not cause much in the way of serious injury to our men, but the scratches and the wounds spread a pestilence around the entire camp. If we had your necromancer with us, perhaps he could have made use of our suffering. His prayers for a plague were finally answered…he just wasn’t there to capitalize on them.” The True Warrior looked at disdain at Malenec, whose face was bruised and bloody. Veronica fixed her eyes on the True Cleric for the first time and thought he looked like a man who had lost a fight with a stone-thrower. Or a tomato patch.

  Xaro gritted his teeth. Veronica had to strain across the sound of her crackling campfire to hear his next words, he spoke so softly. “Your numbers?”

  Tar-Tan’s shimmering image seemed to look in the direction of her fire, away from Xaro. “Less than 20,000 in total, half of whom may be able to travel anytime soon.”

  “Your location?”

  “Halfway between Misk, and Fenoway Lake. Unfortunately, we are still well south of the Ajax Mountains.
We have threatened to lay siege to Misk if they do not send healers our way from their midst. They have sent one, who is not even a True Mage. When he saw the disease, he fled. I put an arrow through his back myself.” Tar-Tan actually smiled a little at that memory, looking somewhat smug.

  Xaro began calmly, allowing his anger to build until his image was literally shaking. “You are a fool. Take the city! While you wait around and lay siege, your men die. Perhaps next time you could knock on the city gates and say ‘please’? What kind of general sets up a training ground for captured slaves next to a marsh anyway? What kind of general asks a city for help while half your men lay sick, infecting others? I give you a position to lead because men will fear you. Do you know what men really fear? A competent general. You have a slave uprising, and how do you squash it? By wounding the men that you intend to turn into our soldiers? Did it ever occur to you to make an example of just a few? Perhaps send a few men back to the isles to bring back some of their family members? Perhaps make an example of them? What more do these captured slaves have to live for? And now an army of 40,000 is down to 10,000 able-bodied men? And still has the mountains and desert to cross. Do I have that correct?” Xaro’s image was shouting by the end.

  What a feisty man, Veronica mused.

  Tar-Tan nodded. “Yes. Master, I have failed you.” He said nothing else, but he had the dignity to look Xaro in the eyes this time.

  “Yes. I can only pray to Kuth-Cergor that the rest of my updates are better. Trevor?” Xaro turned his attention to the little thief.

  “Yes, Master. I—fear that my update will not improve your spirits either.” He moved his Adam’s apple up and down a few times, trying to get his throat wet. His image appeared to be going up and down as well, as if he was floating on water. His face was also bruised, now that she looked closely. And he was none too attractive to begin with.

  “I have lost your ring, Master.” He tried to look at Xaro, but he dropped his eyes.