“Yes, few people study history, and fewer still study the period of the warlords. But surely you have heard of Quixatalor?”
“Of course.” But only recently.
Tomas continued. “Of course. All mages have heard of Quixatalor. But did you know that he made a ring—a ring of magical protection—for Karwin? He did; Karwin demanded one when he overthrew Absynthe, who we remember as The Weak. He wanted Quixatalor to continue in his role as an advisor, but he didn’t trust him or any True Mage, especially one as powerful as him. His solution? He had a ring made that would stop harmful spells from working against him. He would have made Quixatalor prove its effectiveness on his friends, no doubt.”
“How did you come to learn this?” Magi asked.
“Ah. Remember son, I made a living working with inanimate objects, learning how different metals, wood, jewels, and other objects reacted to different types of spells. I researched the ancient art of alchemy. I suspect that is the grain of truth that inspired Marik’s fiendish lie about me. I travelled to the libraries in Rookwood to see how other mages worked with objects in the past, and I came across an old book, entitled Ancient Artifacts. I presumed the author to be Quixatalor himself, since it read more like a list of his experiments than a compilation of famous artifacts. One of the objects discussed in that book was the ring—the one I gave you.”
“I have seen other magical rings before with claims of protection. What made this one so different, old man?”
“True, lesser mages have made rings. But not like this. They have three or four charges, or might protect you from a simple magic projectile or a fairly straightforward spell. This ring was meant to protect a warlord from the greatest Archmage of all time. He found a way to embed the depth of his own power in the stone of that ring. A powerful mage casting a purposeful spell would crush a person wearing some two-bit ring bought at a travelling fair. But if the victim was wearing Karwin’s ring? Nothing. It is a unique item—it had been my most prized possession. It would have been yours anyhow…I just decided to give it to you early, and used what little skill I had to keep it hidden from others until it would be nothing more than a young man with a ring, certainly unremarkable.
“Karwin wanted it to be unremarkable as well, which is why it’s silver, not gold, and why it’s an emerald, not a diamond. But I read about it, and remembered a crude drawing of it that Quixatalor included in his notes. He obviously succeeded in making a ring powerful enough to blunt even his own magical attacks against Karwin, should he have been inclined to challenge Karwin and try to take power himself.”
“I heard he served the warlord for more than 100 years.” Magi said, stifling a yawn. “But regardless, how did you get it?”
“He did serve him for a century or more. Perhaps willingly, perhaps not. But he served faithfully, as evidenced by the fact that a Dwarf ruled all of Elvidor that long. But it was Karwin’s paranoia of mages that led to the creation of that ring. When he died, the ring was buried with him. That was the last entry in that section of the book. Curious that Quixatalor didn’t try and keep the ring for himself when Roc-San defeated Karwin. But that’s not the point.”
He slowly eased his hands toward the fire, stopping just short of burning himself. Magi just listened patiently. “About the time you were born, there was quite an earthquake on this side of Elvidor. It’s said that even the waters of Lake Calm rippled that day. People’s homes were destroyed, and the King at that time, Raza, who is the father of the late King Alomar, was besieged with requests for help. Not from me. I had another plan. I survived the quake on my own. I went to the black market, looking for amethyst, because I believed—and still do—that it contains the secret for turning iron to gold. The black market was thriving as thieves sought to make a killing in the chaos following the earthquake, when other shops were destroyed. Buyers and sellers and every charlatan and cutpurse in Paragatha swarmed to the black market bazaars that popped up.
“I did not find an amethyst. The chance of finding the right one was a long shot anyhow, but I thought maybe a substitute…it doesn’t matter. I gave up on riches long ago. Regardless, there was a certain little gypsy man who made a living challenging people with a simple shell game. I won’t forget his name—it was Tinkle. ‘Like the bell on my hat’ he would say with a wink.
“Tinkle pulled me aside as I was leaving, like he normally did, only he wasn’t interested in challenging me to a wager. Instead he said ‘Tomas, have a look at this.’ He showed me the ring. ‘Thirty gold pieces and it’s yours. I know you’ve an eye for jewelry and pretty stuff. You know whose this was?’
“Of course I didn’t have thirty gold pieces, but as I looked at it, I recalled the picture and the description. ‘I believe I do. That ring once belonged to Karwin, who some called The Short.’
“Well, Tinkle just looked at me with wide eyes. ‘Not many would know that, Tomas. I knew you would appreciate this ring. Like I said, thirty pieces of gold, and you can claim it for yourself.’”
Magi found a second wind, engrossed by the story. “How did some gypsy in a black market get the ring, old man?”
“Grave robbers, crypt thieves. A lot of rocks that blocked tombs were moved and broken during the quake, and opportunists abound in such an environment. We live in a Dark World, my son. Your own father frequented black markets looking for stolen goods, so I’m not holding myself out. I’m no saint. I handed you over to be raised by strangers to try and save my wife’s and my own life. And even there, I failed.” He broke down, sobbing.
Magi didn’t move, he just stared at his old man in silence, listening to soft cries and some mumbling. He finally cleared his throat after a minute. “Magi, I’m sorry. So much to tell you. But to finish the story of the ring…I don’t know whether Tinkle robbed the grave or bought it from someone else who robbed it, but I cast a spell to knock a vase above his head onto him while he was wearing it, and the vase wouldn’t fall on him. That was good enough for me.
“If it was really Karwin’s ring of magical protection, it was worth a hundred times more than his price. The gypsy had no idea what the ring did; he was trading on its value as a warlord’s ring, hoping to impress some fool, which he took me for. I made him a counter-offer. ‘Instead of thirty gold pieces, how about an unlimited amount of gold?’ I said. I offered to rig his shell game so that the tiny ball would become invisible if he tapped twice on the cup it was really underneath. He could tap on all the cups for all I care, but the tapping would activate a short illusion that would make the ball underneath invisible. It was a bit tricky, and he had to use the same cup, ball, and table every time to get the concealment to work, but it did. He agreed to trade the ring for the bit of magic, believing it would always allow him to win.”
Tomas began to shake his head. “It was a death sentence I gave him, but he was too dim to realize it. When I visited the market a month later, someone told me he had been killed by a mercenary. Run through with a sword, accused of cheating. I had effectively killed him, son. My first murder.”
Magi shrugged his shoulders, again out of habit, forgetting the pointlessness of non-verbal communication with his father. He then added, “Your first murder. I can’t wait to hear about the next. But you had the ring.”
Tomas sighed again. “But I had the ring. When I came home and showed it to Jaz, I tested it further and knew it was Karwin’s. For one, it was huge—the old dwarf must have had thick, meaty little fingers.” He smiled at the recollection. “Like I mentioned, that was when I added my own little bit of magic to the object: I created a spell that would resize it to fit the wearer’s finger. I felt better about adding a little magic to the ring than I did taking it to a common smitty to rework the silver band, that’s for sure. That was how I knew it wouldn’t fall off your hand when I slipped it on to you, provided you couldn’t feel it and take it off yourself as a babe. Just a tiny bit of my magic embedded in the band to go with Quixatalor’s powerful magic in the stone. I was so proud of that ring, so
n. As I said…it was my most prized possession. And now it’s gone.” He sighed mournfully and held up his empty cup. “Just one more, son?”
Magi curled his lip, got up and filled his father’s cup one final time, deep into the wee hours of the bitterly cold night. He sat back down and looked at Tomas, and narrowed his eyes, rubbing the sleep away.
“Father,” he acknowledged for the first time, “What happened to my Mother?”
There was a long pause before Tomas replied. “After I slipped the ring on your finger and concealed it, I handed you over to Marik and his Master, begging that they spare us. He looked over at his Master, who had said nothing the entire time. But he took you from him, and nodded to Marik before walking out the door. That was it. I screamed after him, I screamed I love you, I just…screamed.” Tomas was shaking as his voice began to break.
“Marik dropped a hand, and the sword took off your mother’s head. Marik paralyzed my feet in place. ‘He is my son now. Goodbye, Tomas. May you meet your wife again this very night.’ And then he laughed. A cruel laugh, while I cried and screamed. I couldn’t concentrate, all I could see was red. Red—and then blue. As he left, he cast an everflame spell on the house, and the blue flames were uncontained, spreading up the walls, the roof. We lived in an isolated plot of land, far away from the nearby village. I’m sure they figured no one would come, and they were right. No one did.”
“How did you live?”
“I knew a simple water spell to keep a cauldron full of water. It was meant to keep folks from having to lug buckets from a well or a spring. So I used it to spill and splash water everywhere. Magical water against magical flames…they cancelled each other out. Oh, I had some burns—you see them written all over my face—and the house eventually fell inward on itself, but I avoided the most direct hits. After some time Marik’s spell ran out, and I was no longer paralyzed where I stood.” He cleared his throat again. “You should know that I recovered your mother’s body and gave her a proper burial.”
“Now I understand why Marik was so shocked to learn you lived. He must have thought you dead as well. But why give me the ring, why not keep it for yourself and fight them?”
“They had a sword to your mother’s throat! What could I do—throw rocks at them? Besides, if you saw Marik’s Master, and the size of the sword he wore…I did not like my chances two-on-one, what with my wife’s life hanging by a thread. No, the ring would serve you better, especially if they didn’t know it existed. I hoped it would buy me time.”
“Time for what? You never sought to recover me.” Magi had his arms crossed against his chest.
“That is not true, son. I decided to leave and climb the Staircase. I knew only a True Mage would have a chance at recovering you. It did not take long for me to quickly realize I was over-matched. Third step. My folly only cost me my eyesight. Blind, without a way to earn a living, with no wife, no family, I descended. I sunk into despair, Magi. I had no idea where you were, and no way of travelling, certainly no way of getting you back. I thought about seeking justice with the King, but what could they do? Nobody knew where to look; I didn’t even have a name to give the crown. Despair led to wine, and wine led to begging for alms. It did not take long for my strength to deteriorate. Within a few years I no longer had the ability to even hold the spell of concealment on your ring. That was when I began to think about taking my own life—a thought I’ve had many times since. The only reason I didn’t was the hope that somehow, someway, you might find your way back to me. And you have!” Tears were flowing from his milky eyes, following the scar lines that crisscrossed down both cheeks like snowmelt down a mountain. “And you have…” he repeated.
Tomas bowed his head, but didn’t bother to wipe his face. “How many years has it been since my strength waned? Ten, fifteen maybe? I don’t know…my perspective on time is gone. But that would have been the day it appeared on your finger. So, if you wish to steal from me, spit on me, or kill your own father, you would have a cause. As I said earlier, it is me who has much forgiveness to ask of you. Whatever you wish from me, son, it is yours. My life is complete knowing that you found me, that you know the truth about your father.”
Somewhere deep in the back of Magi’s memory—it now seemed eons ago—he recalled Ragor shooting missiles into Tarsh at the end of the Tournament. Now the whole thing seemed so contrived in light of these recent truths. After a prolonged silence, he rubbed his forehead and said, “Old man, what do you have that I could possibly want?”
Tomas smiled sadly. “Not much, I suspect. When they took you, I did give you a seedling that I wove a bit of magic into that I hope he planted. I called it a Serenity Tree—it should have amplified your best qualities and given you peace.”
“He did that, at least. My Tree has been a favorite spot to study over the years. But I’m afraid trees rooted in the ground half a continent away are not going to help me fulfill my own prophecy.” Magi reached down to twirl his ring again before catching himself.
“Well, I don’t know your destiny, son,” Tomas said. “But I may be able to leave you with one final gift. On that table is my old spellbook. In it you’ll find the spell to open the door to the Staircase. I suspect you’ll have a greater chance at making it to the top than I ever did.”
Veronica
“Silas said you wanted a word. Who might you be, my dear?” Strongiron looked across the table at Veronica, surrounded by six Men-at-Arms. She saw all of them drinking…water. Other knights stared at her, and they looked to be a few pints in, but Strongiron and his men were as steady as a plank and as direct as the point of his sword.
Veronica had the situation summed up in her mind in a fraction of second, lest an awkward pause create suspicion. She had already tried poisoning him, but he was having his food sampled. Bottom line: She could throw a hidden blade and likely kill the General here and now, but it would be her last contract. The first rule of any Assassin is to honor your contract. But the second rule is perhaps even more vital: live to sign another one. Her initial instincts were right; this man was no fool, and was far too cautious to meet a stranger alone. She smiled shyly and began the tedious process of building trust…
“My name is Sarah,” she lied. “I have heard you are searching for someone.”
“Yes. Some ones, actually. I’ve made it no secret around town.” Strongiron rubbed his clean-shaven cheeks, although the thick mustache he wore above his set lips and strong chin was eye-catching. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders, and was devoid of any grey. But his most striking feature was his eyes. He stared at her with deep blue—almost icy blue—eyes that were impossible to ignore. His most attractive feature, Veronica mused. He is built like Xaro.
“If it is not too much of a burden, General, I should like to hear your story. Why do you seek followers of an ancient God?” Men always love to hear themselves talk.
A hush fell over the table, including the lesser soldiers. The rest of the common room also began to grow curious. All eyes turned to the massive True Warrior, whose arms rippled when he lifted his water goblet. This man commands respect!
“Well, Miss Sarah. That’s a right long tale. But I’m happy to share—would be good for the Warriors and Knights and patrons to hear as well. Some have already—others, less so. Why might you want to know?” There was an honesty to his eyes that Veronica found intriguing.
“Well, General,” Veronica mimicked, “Perhaps we are seeking the same thing.”
Strongiron just looked at Veronica, then at Silas, who was sweating profusely, running off to the kitchen as one of his serving woman whispered in his ear. The entire tavern had grown quiet—all talking had stopped and everyone was staring at this pale beauty bantering with their General. Finally, he laughed. “Perhaps. One never knows, of course.”
He stood and raised his voice to address the entire room. “I see there is some interest in my purpose here within your wonderful city and this fine establishment. Shall I speak up—or are you all just
gawking at the spine of this young lady who had the mettle to ask me the same question that’s on all your minds?” He gave Veronica a wink and laughed infectiously. Soon the entire room was cheering him, hoisting glasses, calling for a tale.
As Strongiron settled the room down, with Silas ordering his staff to keep the ale flowing to each and every table, Veronica had just one thought on her mind:
The hook is in.
CHAPTER 18: OPPORTUNITIES PRESENTED AND WITHELD
Kyle
As Kyle made the short journey south from Paragatha, he skirted the ridgeline of a hillside that dropped sharply into the bowl that formed Lake Calm. From his vantage point atop the steep path, he kept one point in his frame of reference: the Five Spires of the immense castle known as Rookwood. Alone, weary, and hungry, he still kept a fair pace. He had always been fit, and his journey from Brigg with his former Master and his former best friend had done nothing but make him more fit. Lesser men would have passed away along the rocky path. But Kyle had set his mind like flint and was determined to see the castle and beg his Queen for help. He would work for a year to earn his passage back to Brigg. Why would I even go back? He would work for a year to earn his passage back to Fostler, to see his parents. And why would I go back there? He would work for a year to earn a hot meal and a warm bath. Foolishness, but headed in the right direction. He would work for a year to gain apprenticeship with one of her True Mages at court. Ahh…now that makes sense.
The conversation raged back and forth in his own mind as he planned his next move. He kept coming back to the same thing: he needed to learn more about this Staircase, where it was, how to get there, what it takes, how to prepare, etc. Only a True Mage could offer him that. And there was not likely to be a larger group of True Mages anywhere than in Queen Najalas’s court. Surely one would take on an obedient, attentive apprentice?
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 42