In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  Queen Najalas

  Queen Najalas looked at her five councilors for a good long time before turning to Strongiron. “I have heard everyone. Strongiron—I remain convinced that your presence on the mission will be invaluable in helping find remnants of the old clerics, their rites, their knowledge, their artifacts, their practices. I also have a strong sense that your presence will greatly aid in protecting the party and prove critical to the mission’s overall success. And not that you would ever run from a threat, but I also strongly believe, for what it’s worth, that you will be safer away from Rookwood for a spell. It is my desire that you should accompany Niku. Will you follow my wishes on at least this?”

  The others were somewhat puzzled; when did anyone not follow the Queen’s wishes? Strongiron did not take his eyes off his Queen. His face was inscrutable. He finally nodded. “Of course, my Queen. As you wish. I shall go make arrangements.” He rose from the table, and then added, “And will take every reasonable precaution in doing so.” He bowed low and left. Soon the others followed, each bowing and leaving, until the Queen was alone in her council room. She sighed and muttered, “I pray this is the right decision.” As if she struggled to convince even herself, she sighed again and left.

  Strongiron

  “This makes no sense,” said Niku. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say our Queen didn’t trust me.”

  “I agree, my friend. I wonder whether her grief has finally caught up with her,” chimed in Peter. “Strongiron, if the situation was reversed, I would be hard pressed to obey. You should stay.”

  Jonathon glared at Peter. “The Queen’s orders are the law of the land. We serve at her leisure, Peter.” He softened his tone, looking around the small private chamber in which all five of them were gathered immediately following their meeting with the Queen. “However, I understand your frustration. It would not seem to be the most prudent course, given Chief Chocktaw’s grim message of floating corpses heading west.”

  Simon poured himself a glass of water from a nearby pitcher. “At least they were headed away from Elvidor. We don’t know when they’ll be back.”

  “Does it matter?” asked Peter. “Sending our General is madness, Assassin or no! I understand the need to find evidence of Dymetra; we’ve all seen the power a single Dark Cleric can wield. All I am saying is that Niku can handle it. And if he needs help, send Rhee, hell, send Sir Victor if you want a knight in your group. But Strongiron? My friend, I genuinely think this matter needs to be rethought.”

  “What are you suggesting, Admiral?” asked Niku.

  “Just that the Queen, on this point, is not acting rationally. We all know she’s fair, logical. This is out of character, surely you all see that?” Peter stood up and grabbed some water himself.

  “You are hinting at rebellion. If this were a ship, you would be advocating mutiny.” Jonathon stood up, staring at the Admiral.

  “I would support Strongiron,” interjected Niku. “Simon?”

  Simon looked at Jonathon, then at Strongiron. “I would support Strongiron, at least temporarily until this madness passed.”

  Peter, who had not taken his eyes off Jonathon, said, “Strongiron. Jonathon, I would not even suggest this if we weren’t talking about the Kingdom. Surely you know I mean the Queen no harm in this. But she is wrong—even you understand that.” He extended his hand to the Steward.

  Jonathon stared at it, and finally took it, exhaling deeply. “Then we agree we must confront her on this, one more time. I, too, will stand with Strongiron.”

  All eyes turned to Strongiron, who was seated, listening carefully. He smiled sadly. “You stand by a man who will faithfully serve the Queen. She wants me to accompany you, Niku, which is what I will do. I can appreciate your doubts, and your faith in me. But I am a King’s man, now a Queen’s man, and we shall find this God. Or, we shall find that Dymetra is no more a God than any of the statues that line the streets of Paragatha just north of here. One or the other, we shall find the truth—I shall find the truth.” He looked at each of the men in turn, and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “And while I appreciate your confidence in me, we shall not speak of rebellion again while our enemies plot against us.” Strongiron gave a curt nod to the other four, and they all wordlessly started filing out of the room.

  “One more thing,” Strongiron said, turning to Simon with a warm smile. “Captain, would you be so kind to find whoever it was that wanted me dead? I would so very much enjoy meeting them upon our return.”

  Xaro

  Today was the day. Today could see the healing of his army, the swelling of its numbers, and the fall of his enemy’s general. Perhaps his thief might even redeem himself today. Now now, don’t get too greedy. Save some good news for future days.

  Xaro sat alone in his tent. He relished the test ahead of him. If his plans for taking Misk succeeded, there would be only one life lost. It would likely require all his combined skill, and it would be him alone at risk. But the opportunity to swell his army after so many were lost in the rebellion was too important to pass up.

  Tar-Tan was tending to the main force of his army, working up contingency plans (should Xaro be unsuccessful), and gathering information on the wounded. Another had died last night from swamp-related infections. Xaro needed the pillafer leaves to produce the type of healing spell that would cure these infections and bring his men back to health. If Kuth-Cergor would only grant me the power to raise these men… No. He would not feel sorry for himself today. If these men were to be the core of his army, they would be fully alive, and it fell to him to see that no more died needlessly.

  It was time. Closing his eyes, Xaro began to pray. “Mighty Kuth-Cergor, Lord of this World, I submit myself to your will. Master, you have given your servant a strong army, but I need to tend to them. I need to save them from this disease that ravages the surrounding land. If you will not raise them from the dead for me, I beseech that you bless my efforts this day and provide the means to save them. Look after your servant as I do your bidding. Help me, Master, to bring more men into the knowledge of your power this very hour. Grant me lightening, my God, a bolt unlike any other, from a storm unlike any other, to tear open the locked gates of Misk. Let this city be introduced to the true Master of this realm, and to your chosen servant!”

  Xaro stood and took a deep breath. He had unflinching faith that this request would be heard. Refocusing his attention to his Art, he began the ritual incantation to make himself completely invisible, bending light so that his appearance matched perfectly whatever was in the background. He poured his magic over himself, satisfied that anyone looking would now see an empty tent. Hearing a peal of thunder, he smiled and walked out of the tent.

  An enormous, ominous black cloud began to form out of nothingness in the clear blue, sunny skies. Starting with a black dot the size of a pinprick, darkness began to swirl outward over the walled-in city of Misk. It looked like an ever-expanding black cloud, and soon it began draping a shadow over the entire city. As Xaro silently approached the wall, he began to hear audible screams from atop. He carefully placed an acorn under his invisible foot and crushed it, casting the spell to amplify his voice. He projected his voice over the entire city.

  “Behold, citizens of Misk, your doom can yet be avoided. I do not wish to destroy your city; I have come looking only for help for our wounded. Your foolish Lord Bollinger denies me this help, and has thus assured that my wrath shall fall first and hardest on him. Citizens of Misk, hear me! Your Lord would have you believe that we are weak while you are strong, trusting in the resilience of your stone walls. Therefore your stone walls shall be used to demonstrate my strength and your weakness, for I come in the name of an ancient god, a true god, and before him stone is like straw. Behold, I come in the name of Kuth-Cergor!”

  At that point, an incredible bolt of lightning, visible for many leagues, crackled from the center of the black cloud and struck the front gates. The lightning did not flash; it stayed illuminated for
several seconds, searing an unforgettable image into the minds of any who witnessed it. There was no rain, and the black cloud was the only cloud in an otherwise clear sky.

  The gates split open from the force of the lightning, and stone fragments were hurled everywhere. Xaro was speaking from a safe distance, and he offered a silent prayer of thanks to his god in unbridled awe. After a few more seconds, the bolt of lightning disappeared. The black cloud did not recede, however, but just kept swirling slowly over the entire city, like a giant whirlpool in the sky.

  When the dust settled, a gap that must have been a dozen or more feet across had been opened in the city defenses. Xaro could easily march his able-bodied men into the breach.

  That was not his plan, however. Amidst the chaos and panic, Xaro slipped into the city, unannounced and unseen while guards began trying to organize in front of the massive hole in the stone wall that used to be the gates to the city.

  He moved stealthily through the city. People ran inside doors and slammed them as fast as they could, clearly terrified that one lightning bolt, summoned from above, could crack open their wall. He spotted a small group of mages walking hurriedly. “We’ve been summoned,” was all Xaro heard. He followed them at a distance along the hard-dirt streets.

  Misk was really the only major city east of Fenoway Lake below the Ajax Mountains. The Dead Road connecting it to the western cities was long, and took travelers all the way to the foothills before turning southward again. As such, it was a large trading outpost, and was not far from the open waters of the Sea of Hate. Plant extracts which were hard to gather from the marshes were an export item, as well as some timber and ore that travelled along the Dead Road for ships leaving to the East; it was easier than crossing the mountains or sailing around the entire continent.

  Xaro was surprised that a city as strategically situated and as prosperous as Misk still boasted little more than dirt roads. And the homes were mostly wood, not brick or stone, and they all looked similar inside the main outer walls. No creativity in their dwellings, no land on which they can work. Just a bunch of people living in rectangles inside one big rectangle. Xaro made mental notes of everything and continued following the mages at a distance.

  Near the center of the city, Xaro saw where the money of Misk went. A gorgeous palace sprang up from nowhere when he turned the corner. The only green grass he had seen since he entered the city formed the basis of a sprawling lawn and garden. Exotic flowers dotted the landscape, along with several paved paths that led to half a dozen fountains. The main palace itself was enormous, a stone structure rimmed with columns and topped in gold. The entire estate was surrounded by guards while workers tended to the fountains, flowers, and statues sprinkled throughout the property.

  “Lord Bollinger had summoned all mages,” one of the men said. The guards—both Knights and Mage Guards—let the small group of mages pass. Xaro used an old Ranger trick of “light walking” that he learned from Paul the Wanderer to race up behind them, leaving no trace of his passing. He did not want to utter any more spells while invisible, especially now that he knew there were Mage Guards everywhere as well. He feared no single mage, but he didn’t want to face a dozen Mage Guards, either.

  The group of mages climbed a series of pristine white marble steps leading to a set of ornate doors that opened up the Lord’s palace. Another set of guards, both Knights and Mages, stood to the side of the doors. The guards signaled for the doors to be opened, and they slowly swung outwardly open, silent on well-greased hinges. Again, Xaro followed closely on their heels.

  “Follow me,” said a thin man, dressed in a bright yellow robe, cinched in pale blue around his waist. His Steward, probably.

  The man in yellow led the group through a series of hallways and past several rooms until finally he reached a large archway, with another set of double-doors and more guards. He nodded to the guards, who nodded back and let him pass. Taking a key from inside his robe, he placed it in an enormous lock, turned it once, and the doors swung inward this time. The guards moved quickly back into position immediately behind the last mage, and this time Xaro was unable to sneak in behind them. Had he been any closer, the guards would have bumped right into him, invisible or no. He just stood there patiently as the doors closed, and he heard the lock click back into place.

  Xaro looked at his surroundings. The palace was an affront to his sensibilities. He lived a spartan life, and his focus for nearly every day of his forty-year life had been to get better at something. This place was meant for one thing only: pure luxury. Pillows, couches, eating rooms, bath chambers—it was one of the richest palaces Xaro had ever seen, and he had travelled more than most men. The riches of Misk might help my looming gold shortage, too.

  Xaro turned around again to make sure there was nobody behind him. He was in a short hallway that led to some room beyond which was likely Lord Bollinger. In front of him were six guards—three Knights and three Mage Guards. There was nobody else present.

  He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small pinch of sand, which he let fall. Before the Mage Guards or the Knights knew what was happening, Xaro’s powerful sleep spell overcame them, and they gently fell to the floor in restful positions. Xaro wasted little time before someone came by and saw the sleeping guards. He stepped past them and gently pushed on the doors. Locked, as expected. He reached into another pouch and pulled out a lockpick he’d learned how to use when he studied thievery. After a minute or two of fiddling, he felt the necessary click. Xaro pushed open one of the doors just a crack, which like the others were also silent on well-oiled hinges. Everything in this place is perfectly maintained. He pushed the door shut behind him, still invisible to all.

  The room, as he expected, was Lord Bollinger’s audience chamber. Identifying which one was Lord Bollinger wasn’t difficult. An enormous man dressed in fine silk robes, mostly teal with different shades of blue to accent, was seated on a well-cushioned chair raised up on a dais. The man was clean-shaven, with curly, light brown hair that spilled down to his shoulders. The robes concealed the precise level of obesity this man had achieved, but Xaro guessed that Lord Bollinger had the agility of bread pudding.

  “I am telling you, the palace must be guarded! Put some men near the breach, but I do not want my knights pushed forward. The palace is the priority. Do I make myself clear?” The man was almost spitting from the dais.

  “Yes, my Lord. But if we can stop their advance from the outer wall—” one of the Knights brought up.

  “At what risk?” boomed the voice of Lord Bollinger. “Mages. You defend the outer wall. But the Knights stay here.” He looked at the man in yellow robes. “Fetch me some cold water, Norman.”

  “Yes, Lord.” The man in yellow walked across the room and found a pitcher. Again, Xaro saw his chance and walked over to the water glass and took out a small vial. Veronica would be so proud…actually, it’s Silverfist that would be proud. Veronica prefers her kills to be a bit messier. He added a few tasteless, odorless drops to the glass of cold water that Norman was carrying back to Lord Bollinger. One would have to be staring at the rim of the glass to see a few clear drops fall out of nowhere into his cup. No one in the room, however, was staring at the rim of the water glass being brought to the disgusting man. All eyes were fixed on the disgusting man himself.

  Xaro stood right behind Lord Bollinger when he began to choke. It was a quick poison, one that was fairly humane, as poisons go. Relatively painless. The nerves were numbed and the victim choked to death. You simply fell asleep from lack of oxygen and never awoke. Two minutes later, Lord Bollinger’s head lolled forward.

  “My Lord?” asked Norman, the man in yellow. “Are you unwell?”

  Xaro placed his invisible hand on the man’s back and pushed him forward out of his seat. My God is this man fat! He silently gave a firmer shove and watched Lord Bollinger pitch forward off the dais and spill onto the floor awkwardly.

  “My Lord!” yelled Norman. “Mages! Come help!”
>
  Xaro eased himself into the makeshift throne, and allowed these men to mill about for a few seconds before he dropped his spell of invisibility.

  “Gentlemen,” he began. “Now that the slob is dead, I would like to resume a civilized discussion.”

  Completely startled by his sudden appearance atop Lord Bollinger’s throne, all eyes were staring at Xaro when he felt the tingle from one of his lieutenants reaching out to contact him. That could mean only one thing: My brother is dead.

  Marik

  The routine was always the same: hang out at the docks during the day, looking for a ship named The Modest Mermaid, and then hang out at the taverns and inns during the night, looking for certain sailors (one, in particular, named Helmut). Day after day.

  It had been weeks since Marik had teleported to Gaust to rendezvous with Trevor, all in search of a silly ring Xaro was obsessed with possessing. A ring Marik could have had any time he wanted over the last eighteen years. But it hardly seemed remarkable, other than the fact that it appeared to change sizes to fit Magi’s growing fingers, but even that was simply a bit of practical magic. Nothing noteworthy.

  But Xaro thought otherwise, which meant there was more to it.

  “Trevor, I’m going to the Great Library. There is a piece of information concerning my Art that I hope to find there. I won’t be long. If you find this Helmut or any other sailors you recognize, follow them discreetly. I will find you, and we’ll get the ring back together. Do not try and get it back yourself. Agreed?” Marik looked at the Master Thief coolly.

  “Sure,” Trevor replied. “Together.”

  “Good.” Marik headed toward the city center, missing the scowl on the Master Thief’s face as he departed.

  It did not take him long to reach the steps to the Great Library, which he climbed two at a time. As he entered the building, it did not take long for a bald man in stark white robes to descend upon him like an eagle swooping for a fish. Thomas, the Keeper’s assistant, greeted him nervously. “Marik—it is rare that we are visited by you. How does your school fare?”