In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  They also agreed that Kari would not be left alone with Phillip. Ever. Not that he didn’t try, but Rebecca was extremely protective. The crew had started calling her ‘Mother Becca,’ and Kari couldn’t help but smirk, even though the Lady Ranger was hardly seven or eight years older than her. However, she was grateful for the other woman’s company.

  It was on the 23rd day at sea when word came that Rookwood’s banners, flapping from immense turrets, had been spotted from the crow’s nest. The smell of salt and fish was even stronger in port than it was on the open deck during their voyage. Kari found it difficult to contain her excitement. I am going to a city! Not just any city…I am going to see Rookwood Castle!

  Markus pulled Kari aside as she prepared to disembark. “If you and yer ’ma, that Ranger, happen to get an audience w’ the Queen, I’d offer ye some free advice. Your patron, Elder Phillip, has the look of a man out for himself. Don’t know his game, and it ain’t none of me business, given the pretty gold he drops in me pouch, but you be careful, Miss Kari. And number two—don’t get too comfortable in that old castle. It’s a den of trickery and deceit, if you ask me. The Queen’s fair enough if you can get a second with her, but them people treat us on the Western seaboard as second class, see if they don’t! We live in a Dark World—you’d do well to remember that in that fancy castle. Oh, and tell the Queen that Markus got you here in twenty-three days!” His mouth opened wide into a hearty guffaw as he left Kari to mull over his advice.

  Rejoining Phillip and her ‘Ma’, the ever-present Ranger, she looked back at the ship one last time before turning her attention to the enormous capitol city of Elvidor and the seat of power on the continent: Rookwood.

  It was a marvel to see. The elevation began to rise almost immediately after leaving the ship, and the first shops and roads snaked upward from several spots along the port. The port itself looked like it could be easily defended—it was narrow. Rocky cliffs guarded most of the coastline, but there were some shallows that opened up to sea level for massive ships to dock once inside. But the entrance was not wide, and ships could be scuttled to block it if need be.

  They followed one path up from the ship, with guard towers erected at different intervals on either side of every road. Archers were stationed in these, and could rain arrows down onto anyone who wished to march an army toward the city center and the actual castle itself. To the south they saw the massive expanse of Filestalas—the ancient forest homeland of the Elves. Long-standing treaties between the Elves and Men saw that the southern flank was always well protected. The mountains west of the city would make an assault from that direction nearly impossible, even if an army could sail across Lake Calm. Of course, most of the defenses were to the east (the Sea) and north—which opened up the eastern half of Elvidor.

  The city itself was massive—entire communities and shops nestled into the low but steep mountain landscape, filling the valleys, with twisting paths between everything. But the sight that Kari could not take her brilliant green eyes off was the castle itself.

  Situated atop a small mountain, Rookwood dominated the landscape, sprawling across the hillside like a mammoth tree in a tiny flowerpot. Looking at it, Kari had the impression that the castle had always been there, and that the mountains had been built around it. Five large towers could be seen, each blending into the mountainside cleverly. A beautiful stone road snaked down from the main gate into the city below and down to the sea. Past the city as the path continued to climb, it began to fall away steeply to either side as it switched-back up the mountain. The stone road was maybe ten feet at its widest, and at regular intervals was flanked by guard towers that were visibly manned by at least a dozen men each. The city might fall, but Rookwood? Fury could rain down from those towers, from that height, and easily take out the path, leaving would-be invaders to scale the mountain. A large, violet banner flew from the tallest of the towers, and though it was too far away to see the details clearly from the docks, Kari knew the crest of Rookwood: a soaring eagle with five peaks under its spread wings.

  So, this is power. She turned her head slightly to look at Phillip, and could have sworn his mouth was watering.

  Magi

  Huddled in a chilly corner of an unremarkable alehouse named Stoney’s Drink off one of Paragatha’s many side streets, Magi sipped a glass filled with dark, spiced tea. He was drinking for warmth tonight, keeping his wits clear. He had already put seven people to sleep earlier that evening, robbing them under the cover of darkness to fill his pouches with copper, even a little silver. It was easy, though it hardly yielded much money—nobody travelled at night with a lot of coins it seemed—but by his sixth victim he was beginning to enjoy it. He even began feeling entitled to their wealth. The seventh was a lady who he was convinced was up to no good, and he gladly relieved her of her bulging sack of coins. Probably a night lady, he told himself. The only person in the alley was a blind beggar, hands outstretched, whispering “Alms….alms….alms….” Magi dropped a few coppers into a wide-open sack and kept about his business that evening.

  As he sat in Stoney’s, sipping his spiced tea, he called over a barmaid by pulling back his cowl to reveal the handsome face behind it, auburn hair tumbling to his shoulders. With a fake smile and a little extra silver, the maid bounced away to deliver a short message to the innkeeper. A few minutes later a tall, too-skinny man with a lean nose and a nasty scar across his cheek walked over. “Name’s Bruno. Bruno Stoney. I understand you wanted a word, traveler?”

  Magi gave a small, polite nod. “I am looking for a little information. Would you happen to know the whereabouts of an old jeweler by the name of Blacksmooth?”

  Bruno rubbed his scar delicately and finally broke his eyes free of Magi’s gaze. “Can’t say that I do. There are several gem masters in town. Could I refer you to one of them? I know the honest ones.” He smiled pleasantly at his guest.

  Magi finished his tea and took out a silver piece and a gold. “That’s okay. I’m looking for this particular jeweler.” He tossed the two coins at Bruno. “For the tea…and for any future information you might have. I’ll be in town awhile. I’ll stop by periodically—if you find out anything, there’s another one for you.” He gave the same polite half nod and left.

  He stopped next into The Spotted Cat, and ordered more tea. After a few minutes, the innkeeper came over and said he’d never heard of a man named Blacksmooth. The third inn, Dragon’s Kiss, yielded no better results. But he did pick up a useful piece of information. The innkeeper, a fat lady with foul breath who never provided her name, told him to go look in the Great Library. “A scribe or chronicler might know where a man by that name might have lived.”

  Magi thanked her and left his customary gold piece with the promise of another if they found anything. Of course he planned to check the library, but that was a job better suited for the day, and he still had time to visit at least one more tavern.

  Knowing that he was going to bed down for the night soon, he picked one of the better inns for his last stop. On a large tavern near the city center, he saw The Queen’s crest proudly displayed in one of the front windows. It must have been close to midnight as Magi entered The Royal Steed. Compared to the other inns, this one was almost luxurious. Dozens of knights were drinking and singing, and several fire pits warmed the massive common room. This looked to be the inn of choice for travelling merchants who did business with the Rookwood castle to the south.

  There wasn’t nearly as many corners or tables tucked away as there were at the other places, but Magi found a spot that wasn’t on top of any knights or guards. He decided to get a glass of wine, knowing that this would be his last stop for the night. The barmaid had a sultry, dramatic look about her, highlighted by smoky-grey eye shadow and pouty, cherry-red lips. She winked at Magi as she left to take his order. There are some women who feel the need to paint themselves like gypsies, I guess. I can’t imagine what Kari would look like with all that nonsense on her face. It was the first t
hought of Kari he’d had in a long time. He put it out of his mind.

  Turning back to the barmaid, Magi just smiled his typical half nod and then turned his attention to the rest of the room. There certainly were an unusual number of soldiers here. It was after his second glass that the innkeeper finally came out, looking somewhat perturbed. “Look, as you can see we’re doing a fair business tonight, and I can’t be jumping at every patron that wants a word. Be quick—what do you need?”

  Magi didn’t pause. “Information, good sir. I am looking for a jeweler who may or may not still be in business in Paragatha. His name is Blacksmooth. Have you heard of him?”

  The large man who oversaw The Royal Steed put both of his thick, hairy arms on the back of a chair opposite of Magi while he thought. He stared off into the air for a second, and all the sounds of the tavern seemed to press in on Magi for that brief moment. The place was loud, and the drinking and singing soldiers didn’t help. As a particularly raucous chorus wrapped up, it seemed to snap the innkeeper back to attention and he fixed Magi with a stare. “I don’t know any jewelers by that name. But years ago there was a mage, not a True one, mind you, but a decent enough fellow in town who went by that name. Lost his wife and son and disappeared. Never knew what happened to him after that. We live in such a Dark World, you know?”

  Magi

  My father was a Mage. Magi turned those words over in his mind as he left The Royal Steed hastily. He pulled his cloak around him close, the wind was biting, and snow was beginning to fall. Magi walked briskly and conjured a glow ball for extra light. The city was typically well lit, but at this late hour even the glow balls dimmed, and the part of town he was heading for was a bit off the main road.

  Wide awake, he considered all the implications of what he had just heard…it was no wonder Pilanthas wanted him to meet his father. Lost his son…that sweaty slob of an innkeeper had said that this mage named Blacksmooth had lost his son. The tavern owner didn’t know me and had no reason to lie. And he certainly didn’t make it sound like this mage died. Maybe it was a coincidence; maybe it’s a different Blacksmooth. And maybe I’ll invent a spell to teleport across the sea.

  It certainly felt like he had been lied to by his former Master—at least in some manner, and Marik’s insistence on seeing his father first only created more doubt in Magi’s mind. Even if Marik had told him some truth, he felt like he hadn’t been told the whole truth. Everything he thought he knew, he was questioning: his lineage, his parents, Marik’s story of how Magi had come to him, even the source of his own talent. Everything. All he craved at this moment was truth. At some point, you and I will have a long conversation, Marik.

  He quickened his pace, his glow ball hovering in front of him, all light and no warmth. The whirling snow that came within the sphere of light cast by his spell made him look like a man standing in a blizzard at the edge of a moving tunnel.

  Magi strolled up to the place where his parents had lived long ago, at least according to the innkeeper. As expected, there were no traces of them anywhere. The man who answered the thick oaken door brushed him off as soon as could. “Do you know the hour? Nobody named Blacksmooth lives here now, boy. Be about your business.” SLAM!

  The snow continued its steady fall, and the wind howled. Disgusted, he decided to warm up and see if any of the copious amounts of gold he had spread around town might yield anything. He headed down the alley where he had put the woman to sleep before robbing her hours before. She was gone, but that same beggar sat there, huddled against the cold, endlessly asking for alms. Growing short on coins himself after all the inns he had canvassed, Magi decided to help himself from some of the coins in the blind man’s sack.

  “Take it all. A man who would rob a blind beggar needs the gold more than I.” The old man put his head down.

  “So, you are not blind after all.” Magi spat on him. “What kind of man pretends to be poor and blind to prey on the guilt of those who pass by?”

  The man took the ragged hem of his coat and wiped the spittle off his scarred face. “I am blind, but I am hardly deaf, and my nose works quite well to boot. You can smell the likes of me ten feet away, I imagine, because you smell filth. Well, when you live in filth, you can smell clean. Between your smell and the jingle of coins, I knew I was being robbed. Do you think you are the first to steal from a beggar’s purse? You are the first, however, to spit on me. But what can I say—we live in a terribly Dark World. Go. Take what you need. It was never mine to begin with.”

  Magi scowled. “Old man, you can’t give me what I need. Unless you know a mage or a jeweler named ‘Blacksmooth,’ your coins will not help me much.” That didn’t stop Magi from reaching into the sack to grab more than the handful of coppers he’d dropped in earlier that night.

  “Blacksmooth? Tomas Blacksmooth? What do you want with him?” The old man stood up, and stared off to the side of Magi the way blind men do. Magi could see his scarred face clearly now. New skin and old skin formed the splotchy quilt that was his face. He had the face of a man who had been burned.

  “I never said his first name was Tomas.” Magi said, tilting his head.

  “Well, there may be others named Blacksmooth throughout the city, but I’ve not met them. My name is Tomas Blacksmooth. Though I’ve not been addressed by it in many a long year…” the beggar trailed off. “Why are you looking for a man named Blacksmooth?”

  Magi narrowed his eyes, even though he knew the old man couldn’t see his face. Cynical still, he said. “Tell me, Tomas, where I may find your son. My business is with him.”

  The old man said nothing for a minute, then slowly sat back down, shaking slightly. Tears began trickling down each cheek, and he did not wipe them away. Looking up in Magi’s general vicinity, he said, “I wish I knew. My son was taken from me as a babe. It was the beginning of the end of my story. If you do happen to find him, I’d give my ears and nose as well to hug him one more time.” He shuddered and finally wiped the tears away from his sightless eyes. “Aye, I would give that up to hold my boy once more.”

  Magi’s eyes grew wide. “What was your son’s name?” I must be sure!

  Tomas looked directly in his eyes, perhaps by luck. “I have no idea what name he grew up with. But I named him Magi. Magi Blacksmooth.”

  “Old man, I am Magi Blacksmooth.”

  Veronica

  In the face of a recent snowstorm, Veronica had wrapped herself in the warmest cloak she could find, a rather expensive one with fur lining that she had purchased from a shop earlier that day. She certainly would not be out of place in such a garment, and easily blended in among the wealthy patrons at The Royal Steed. She knew she still stuck out like a wildflower in the desert, however. Few respectable women her age travelled alone. Yet she had fooled a hundred men in her life pretending to be a young widow, and she would fool a hundred more.

  This place might as well be a barracks chow hall, she mused. A quick count told her that there were no less than fifty-seven knights bearing both the Queen’s signet as well as that of their own Order scattered around the common room, let alone how many were already in their rooms. A large group held court across the room, maybe a dozen or so seated around a table. They seemed to be decorated sorts, judging from the blue sashes each wore. She could see one, two, three, and in one case, four gold horizontal stripes at the top of each sash. The knights were all dressed well, like most patrons at the tavern, with the various orders to which the knight belonged stitched into their tunic. She recognized the lightning bolt that represented the Order of Thunder, the rose that represented the Order of Thorns, and she also saw a few crossed spears, representing the Order of Blood. There were a few other signets on the knights that she did not recognize. Several shields that clearly belonged to the group lay against the wall, and they all were emblazoned with the same symbol: an enormous eagle, wings spread over five mountain peaks. These were knights of Rookwood.

  Veronica leaned over to an older couple holding hands by one of
the fire pits. “Excuse me, good sir. Would you or your lady be able to tell me about those knights who are over there? There seem to be dozens in here—I’ve never felt safer in all my years of travelling.” She smiled warmly, her white skin reflecting the soft firelight.

  The old man gave the old woman’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Yes, young lady—I can tell you who those men are. The large man with the wavy hair and enormous jaw—that is none other than our General, the True Warrior Strongiron, Knight of the Order of Thunder, one of the Queen’s council and the Defender of our Realm. We rarely get a chance to see him in Paragatha, as he is often needed elsewhere, of course. But a better man you will never find.”

  The old man motioned to a third chair at their table. “Perhaps you would like to join my wife Fran and me for a meal? When we heard that the General was staying here at the Steed, we had to come see him. Are you from around here?”

  Veronica allowed the handsome face of her target to burn an unforgettable image into her mind’s eye, the way she had trained for years, before wrenching her eyes away and making contact with her new friends. “Thank you, that would be lovely. I don’t have much company any more, as I lost my husband to raiders several years ago. But that is in the past. I want to hear more about—what did you say his name was? Strongiron—tell me more about him.” She sat with them and asked for wine from a barmaid. “My, but he is handsome. His wife must be a beauty,” she said.

  The old lady chuckled kindly. “My dear, you certainly are not from around here, are you? What did you say your name was?”

  “Miss Sarah,” said Veronica, before sipping her glass of wine.

  “Ah, Mistress Sarah. Those of us who grow up in the shadow of Rookwood know all about the castle politics, my dear.” The older woman took a sip of wine with a twinkle in her eye as she warmed to the gossip. “Strongiron has had many young women throw themselves his way, but alas he has never taken a wife. The rumor is that the Queen herself is in love with him, but he still holds out. When King Alomar died, it is said that Strongiron took it so hard that he can’t bring himself to think about marrying the Queen, out of loyalty to his former King.”