Fate stood and walked over to Magi. He waved his hand in front of Magi’s face, as he had done to Krishnan and the other nameless mage. “You are now a True Mage, young Magi.” He waved his hand again and the same door reappeared that the other two had exited through. “Go seek your answers. You won’t find any more here.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” He stepped toward Fate, menacingly, before finding himself frozen in his tracks.
“You will find I am powerful enough, young mage. But even I answer to Someone.” With that, he disappeared.
Magi could move again, and what’s more, he was completely healed. As he walked over toward the door, he saw a small piece of polished glass on a table that he hadn’t noticed before. Before leaving, he picked it up and stared at his face, seeing what he looked like with pure white eyes for the first time.
Part 3: The Staff
CHAPTER 20: MAKING ADJUSTMENTS IN A DARK WORLD
Xaro
Xaro and Tar-Tan approached the city gates of Misk under a banner of truce, their army of slaves arrayed behind them. Though many were hardly fit for battle, from a distance the numbers were imposing.
“As I have already said, they will not help us, Master.” Tar-Tan grumbled.
“Then we shall take the city. We certainly won’t lie about for weeks ‘laying siege.’ But perhaps I may have more success appealing to their sense of reason.”
Xaro cast a simple spell to amplify his voice, crushing an acorn beneath his heel. “People of Misk” he boomed. “Hear me. Our battle is not with you, but we have need of supplies. Parlay with us under our banner, and we may yet avoid blood. You may be enriched from our coffers or you may be cut down by our steel, but we have need of your resources. Send forth an emissary of Lord Bollinger, who I believe rules here, and we shall discuss our needs. Silence will only bring our wrath.”
Xaro gazed up at the large stone doors that had been pulled closed once word spread of the swamp disease. He saw archers aiming at him and his mammoth general from atop the city’s ramparts. Your arrows would fall helplessly to the ground against the shield spell around us, fools. Xaro smiled and waited patiently, slapping a mosquito dead against the back of his neck. After five minutes, Tar-Tan turned to him, “Shall we execute your plan?”
Just then, an answering call came forth, “Our mages tried to aid you, and were murdered for their efforts.”
Tar-Tan narrowed his yellow eyes and tightened his grip on his immense sword. Xaro put a hand on his shoulder. He again projected his voice over the walls of the city. “You sent an unskilled mage who fled rather than help us. But we will not hold that against you—it is a difficult thing to behold. You will find my request quite simple: water, and a supply of pillafer leaves that your mages will have in plenty, as they have multiple uses. I will use them to treat our injured and sick. You will not have to come out of your city if you do not wish to do so.”
There was no answer for another minute or two. Two men stood atop the city gates holding an enormous bucket. One of them shouted down, “Here is your water! We shall keep our valuable pillafer leaves to ourselves. Lord Bollinger bids you goodbye, mercenary!” The two armed men overturned the bucket, dumping waste and refuse from the city down in front of Xaro and his general, splattering filth everywhere.
Xaro turned to Tar-Tan. “Yes, I believe it is time to execute my plan.” It was then that he felt the tingle of someone reaching out to contact him.
Veronica
Veronica sat in a guest room, trying to make sense of it all. In the span of a few days, she had begun charming the General who was her next target, executed her contract on the mage’s father, set herself up to be a pious lady in search of an ancient God who she was already actively working against, and now had been assigned to a mission that would take her a continent away from the man she was supposed to kill. She couldn’t help but laugh in the quiet of her lonely room. Out of madness or frustration, she did not know. She had not counted on the Queen sending her away so quickly, before she could further lure Strongiron away from the insufferable men who seemed to surround him every minute of the day.
Focus. Clearly, she had only two choices: Either make her attempt on Strongiron before they left tomorrow, or leave and figure out another angle to try and get him alone.
The thought of actually going to Urthrax never crossed her mind. Her plans would be delayed for months, a year, maybe more. And her colleague (if she could use that term), Malenec, had already departed with his undead warriors. She would not have anyone to help her off the Isle, and would need to find her own path back. The delay and the risk were too great if she left on this journey.
It is time to speak with Xaro. He will know how best to proceed. She dreaded the idea of contacting him. She had simply to say the charmed word and he would cast the communication spell at his earliest convenience. Of course Marik and Malenec did not need the assist, but this was the manner Trevor, Veronica, and Tar-Tan used to call out to Xaro across great distances.
Of all his lieutenants, this would be the first time she would be providing him with anything other than good news. But it couldn’t be helped. She needed his input, and time was most definitely of the essence.
Veronica stood up and began pacing. She hated killing from a distance—it was an unsure business, at best. Too many things could go wrong with a thrown dagger or blow darts or a tossed spear. The biggest thing that goes wrong is that people could see you—you’re rarely alone. If you’re alone, you wouldn’t strike from a distance. At least not to Veronica’s way of thinking. I’ve always enjoyed the jobs in tight…mainly because I always know when those jobs are done.
But in this case, it probably couldn’t be helped. The last day of petitions would be tomorrow, before they sailed. If she was near the exit to the Great Hall and had a clear line of sight to the True Warrior, she would have one shot with a poison dart. She would not even get to see whether it worked. She would only have a few seconds before people started shouting and pointing at her. A quick exit, perhaps some vanishing smoke to cause some confusion, and she would be running. Though she wouldn’t be caught from behind, the trick was getting to the main entrance before they lowered the gates. There were no ‘back doors’ she could use to escape. One way in and one way out—it was part of Rookwood’s defenses.
If she made it out of the castle, she might lose the Rangers and Knights on the way to Lake Calm. Maybe. And if all else failed, and she was still dogged and trailed by them across the Lake, she was sure she could lose them in the mountains. Nobody else alive knew her path through the mountains, save for maybe Barnabus the half-dwarf smitty, and he might as well be on the moon. If she made it to the Crystal Mountains—if—she was convinced that she would live to take on another contract.
It was a close decision—far more risky than she was accustomed to even contemplating. She could be captured, or worse—she could fail to kill Strongiron. She had never failed on a contract. Never. It was what made her the best.
Leaving to avoid the journey and then trying again only bought her time, but not opportunity. In fact, Strongiron would never trust her if she refused the Queen’s grace. And that is how they surely viewed this: a generous Queen making room on their quest to fit her in. How thankful she should be…
After wrestling with her options, she thought she could articulate them. She had her bias, of course, and would advocate for a quick attempt, knowing it would have to be from distance. She had put herself in this ridiculous situation; now she was going to see if she could get herself out. Veronica closed her eyes and sat on the edge of her bed.
“Fennatulum,” she uttered.
Magi
As Magi walked through the door in ‘Fate’s Palace,’ he found himself back in his father’s hovel. He stared around the room, looking for his father’s old spellbook. It was then that he noticed the pool of blood on the floor next to his father’s body.
“Old man?” he asked, under his breath. He walked over there a
nd examined the body. Dead—throat cleanly sliced open. Like Lionel. Time in the Staircase had no real meaning to him, so he couldn’t know exactly how long he was gone. Judging from the body, he guessed his father had been dead for less than a day.
Murdered. Surely Marik’s hands are all over this. It was an odd feeling, looking at his dead, blind father who he had never known until recently. This was a man he thought was so weak—so beneath him—that he had spit upon him. He did not feel sadness or relief or peace or the love that one might expect with the passing of a father. He felt only hate—hatred toward Marik for robbing him of a different life, and an almost unquenchable desire for revenge. I have no idea where to get this Staff, but I do have at least one tangible goal: Marik will surely pay for his crimes and treachery.
And so it was with seething determination that Magi teleported for the first time, intent on his destination.
Veronica
“Yes, Veronica?” Xaro said. His image shimmered in her room. She could not make out anything about his whereabouts. “What shall we discuss?”
Veronica was seated on the edge of her bed, facing a wall. “I have a choice to make and I would like your input, Master.” She took a sip of water from a nearby pitcher. “I have made my way into the Queen’s court, pretending to be an acolyte for a new God she is intent on discovering.”
“What new God?” Xaro interrupted.
“They call her Dymetra. I believe you have spoken of Her as an adversary of our Lord and Master, Kuth-Cergor. She has now ordered me on a quest to another land, searching for information, and my journey begins tomorrow.”
She paused, and Xaro interjected, “She is not a new God. She is older than time itself, Veronica.”
Very well. I meant ‘new’ as in rediscovered, but whatever. She smiled, gave a polite, curt nod, and continued. “Going on this journey may provide some information to you, but it will take me away from Strongiron. For how long, I do not know. So my choice is this: Make my attempt tomorrow, before I leave, or maintain my cover and continue spying on their efforts to learn about Dymetra. It is possible I may fulfill my contract against Strongiron whenever I return; it is improbable that I could complete my contract and still depart on the morrow. The entire expedition will likely be delayed or cancelled if I am successful.”
“When you are successful,” Xaro corrected.
Veronica smiled and felt herself slightly blush. “Yes. Of course, Master. I will not fail you.”
She saw Xaro exhale audibly. “I am glad you sought my input, Veronica. It is not so cut-and-dry,” he began. “There would be great value in having you accompany them. I presume they are going to Urthrax? I have studied there, as you know. It would be helpful if they wandered aimlessly, never finding the ancient Tower of Dariez where Malenec and I learned of the True Gods. That fool has done more damage than he knows. Dymetra is, unfortunately, quite real. It would do our cause well if She turned Her eye on other lands and continued to forget about Tenebrae altogether. We do not need anyone seeking Her face.”
Xaro’s image appeared to be pacing, though it was always in the same spot against the far wall in Veronica’s room. It left her with the impression that Xaro was standing still while the land and sky moved behind him. The effect was a bit unnerving. He continued. “On the other hand, I know what they will find there. The only new information you could provide would be updates on just how close that hideous woman is to finding a True Cleric of her own. When I weigh the value of that information, even if you can hinder and obstruct their efforts, I find it comes short of the value of crushing Strongiron. There are several reasons I want him dead.” He lowered his voice, as if speaking to himself here. “And not all of them are political.”
“Then I shall make my attempt in the morning. It will need to be from a distance, in all likelihood. I will contact you again when I am successful.” She stood up, looking to end the conversation before Xaro reconsidered his input.
“See that you do, Veronica.” He leaned forward and smiled. “See that you do.”
Phillip
Phillip the Elder was Phillip the Miserable. For weeks he had been the Lady Ranger’s errand boy, fetching this, finding that, preparing here, running there. He was the Elder. He had hired her. The very thought that she should be commanding him to serve her and Kari was repugnant. Yet, he liked the idea of joining the Queen’s guard even less, and Rebecca made clear that his service was the only thing that kept him from conscription.
Therefore, it was with great relief that he looked upon the day of departure. Standing near Kari, her brother Kyle, Rebecca, and the enigmatic Sarah (who was looking around constantly), they all were gathered in court to discuss the last details. The air was suddenly scented with vanilla, roses, and some other hard-to-place spices. Belara entered to stand next to the Queen, who was quietly discussing something with Niku and Simon. Peter was inspecting their ship, The Queen’s Passion. Strongiron was nowhere to be seen.
“So Phillip,” said the Queen. “You do not look as excited as your companions. You’re not reconsidering your involvement, are you?” The Queen smiled sweetly at him, with Simon hovering close by.
“N-not at all, Your Majesty. I am quite looking forward to helping look after my fellow westerners.” He bowed low.
Kari came up to Phillip unexpectedly. She whispered to him, “It’s ok, Phillip. I know this isn’t what you expected, but if it makes you feel any better, I’ve had my doubts about leaving, too.” She patted him on the shoulder. Phillip just looked at her gratefully.
She looked over at the Queen. “This is what Phillip—and the rest of us—are leaving.” Kari stepped forward and closed her eyes, chanting silently to herself. Everyone stopped talking and stared at her.
The room began to change. Instead of the benches where petitioners waited, she painted a picture of a scene for all to see. The river Elomere flowing past a smitty, a large man that Phillip instantly recognized as Black-John. She showed them pictures of the old widow, Melanie Goodwin, and the large-scale farmers Horace Packard and Brandon Gains. Rebecca was taking dead aim on a large moose, meandering by the banks of one of the small streams that split off from the river. There was Tarsh and Nugget, running through the woods toward their barracks. She zoomed out and showed the court Kraggentop, and the incredible ice falls, and Elsa, the Ol’ Shakoor. Finally she shifted the illusion to focus on a beautiful tree in bloom close to where her brother lived. Under the tree, in the shade, was a young mage studying. He looked up when Marik, his teacher, approached. “It’s time, Magi,” he said. He looked up and smiled.
Kari let the illusion hang in the air to the gasps of those gathered. Phillip was awestruck at the scene. He could smell the flowers in the tree. It was an incredibly rich picture of Brigg. His village. His home. He rubbed the wetness from his eyes and looked around the room. Everyone was equally dazzled by the brilliant spell. It literally looked like one could enter the scene by walking straight from the Queen’s throne to sit down under Magi’s tree. They even felt a breeze when the wind passed through the blossoms. It was a spectacle.
Phillip looked up at the Queen and her confidants. They were all amazed, but the enchantress, Belara, was positively beaming. Today she wore a pure white outfit, along with her trademark cloak and cowl.
“That place no longer exists, Kari.” Kyle walked over to his sister and put an arm around her. “I wish that it did, but it doesn’t. At least, not as you would have us remember it. The Magi you portray in this scene is not the man I left in Paragatha.” He shook his head. “Sister, you romanticize him.”
She narrowed her eyes, and the scene immediately faded away, much to the disappointment of Phillip and everyone else he could see. “Romanticize him? I know you say he’s changed, but I hardly am romanticizing him. You and I both know better than most how gifted he is.”
Kyle scowled. “I am tired of hearing of how gifted he is. I am tired of hearing how special he is. You know what Magi has become? Selfish, cruel, and p
ower-hungry. He is obsessed with his own needs, his own goals, his own prophecy. He cares nothing for others…and having had time to ponder him lately…I’m not sure he ever cared for anything or anyone other than himself. He’s simply unconcerned with hiding it now that he’s got his prophecy. If that is your pleasant little image of home, I can tell you that it truly is an illusion in every sense of the word.”
“Remember, dear brother, he grew up an orphan.”
“Remember, dear sister, you and I grew up away from our parents for most of our lives as well. At some point, we are each accountable for own actions. And he is well past that point. Why are you defending him?”
“Why did you show us that, young Kari?” asked the Queen, interrupting the petty argument between the siblings.
Kari walked over to the Queen and exhaled. “I’ve always wanted to see the world, my Queen. And now as I am faced with the prospect of leaving, I find myself conflicted. I guess I wanted to see Brigg as I remember it one final time before we depart. I do not know when we’ll return, or when I’ll see it again.”
“Or you could stay,” offered Belara. “Your skill as an illusionist is exceptional, Kari. Stay if you wish.”
Niku turned to his protégé. “Belara, the Queen has decreed that she should travel with us to Urthrax. What do you mean to do by undermining this order?”
Belara smiled. “Pardon my directness, Master, but I do not believe the Queen ordered anything of the sort. She offered Kari a chance to go with you. I am offering her a chance to stay. Unless I have overstepped, Your Majesty?” She bowed low to the Queen.
The Queen just looked at Belara, then at Niku, and finally back toward Kari. “No. Of course not. Kari came to us weeks ago with a request. If her feelings have changed, we would gladly welcome her to court, and I see that she already would have a Master under which she could apprentice. The choice was always yours, Kari. And it still is. But if you are second-guessing yourself, tell us now, for it affects all our planning.”
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 47