The Keeper began to sweat. The True Mage was apparently making him exceedingly nervous. “I have no idea,” he lied, smiling what he hoped was an inconspicuous grin. “Don’t you mages have ways of finding things?”
“We do.” Magi replied, “Especially the truth.” Magi allowed the familiar rush of magic to course through him as he cast the same spell he had used on Ragor’s feet. Out of nowhere, a wicked blade hovered in the air. Quick as a snake, Magi grasped Wyzle’s arm and stretched it out, pushing his head face down on the desk with his arm extended. The sword began to twirl menacingly and slowly descended near Wyzle’s shoulder bone.
“NO! I told him. It was me. Please—not my arm! Please, please. Mercy!” The fat Keeper of the books blubbered.
Magi continued pressing the man against the tabletop, controlling the sword magically. It was an inch above the man’s upper arm. “Where did you get it?”
Wyzle struggled to raise himself up, but he could not break Magi’s iron grasp. He was sooo strong. Unusual for a mage. “It was a farmer. Please—I will tell you the story. Let me up!”
Magi did not let him up. “Talk quickly.”
Wyzle began to whimper. “I-it was a farmer. He brought me the scroll. He was plowing…plowing new land because the soil was so poor, the crops so meager. He began planting over a g-graveyard. He came across a simple grave, one of hundreds. But the box of bones had a smaller box inside it. The b-box you saw when you came here last. He could not read the markings, so he brought it to the Library, and when I saw them and interpreted them, I knew what they were. I informed Marik—I figured a True Mage would have interest in such an artifact, and I was right. I knew Marik would pay g-good gold to see it, and I was right about that, too. The mages who work for Lord Corovant would just take it from the Library. Eventually Marik sent you and your group to copy it. Little did I know…or he know…that you would steal it! You’re h-hurting me…my arm!”
“Our intent was not to steal it. We were attacked.” Magi did not lessen his grip on the Keeper’s head or arm.
“You murdered your own friend!” Wyzle was sweating profusely. “My arm hurts, mage. You are hurting me! I am just a Keeper of Books!”
“What are you talking about? We murdered no one. An assassin snuck in here and killed our friend. We left without telling anyone because the city had already shown itself to be antagonistic toward us. We trusted no one, and by your story, we were right to do so.” The sword inched lower.
“Preposterous. There could not have been an assassin in my l-library.” He did not, however, sound convinced, but he stopped straining against Magi.
“There was. I was here at the time; you were not. It does not matter whether you believe me. It only matters whether I believe you. Tell me, when did you last speak with Marik?” Magi pressed downward on the back of the Master’s head slightly, like he was trying to leave an impression in the wooden desk.
Wyzle was done lying to this True Mage. “I saw him five days ago. He asked for a book and teleported away. He mentioned where he was going. He said he was headed to Sands End, across the seas, after he finished some business, the likes of which he did not say. I swear!”
“What book did he want?” Magi asked.
“Something about magical artifacts. Rings, especially. Please, Magi…please…my arm. Let me go, I beg you!”
Magi felt the sweat pouring off the back of the bald man’s head as he forced his face into the desk with one hand and extended his arm with the other. And the magical sword’s edge gleamed. “I may…have another copy of the b-book I gave him. Please!”
Magi narrowed his white eyes and relaxed slightly. “Show me.” He released the Keeper, but the sword hung over him, always hovering a few inches over his head.
The Keeper slowly got up, watching the sword rise slightly as he did. He rubbed his shoulder, trying to restore the blood flow through it as it throbbed painfully. He smiled nervously at Magi, but said nothing. He walked to a nearby shelf and handed him a book, Ancient Artifacts. “Do you know what he might want with this?”
Magi grabbed it and it disappeared inside his cloak. “I have my suspicions.”
“As do I,” a low voice said from behind him as a freezing spell paralyzed Magi’s arms and legs.
The man with the low voice turned to Thomas, who stood next to him, completely winded. “Thank you for the tip, Thomas. Mage-guards, take this one to Lord Corovant immediately, and do not let him awaken no matter what.”
Kari
Kari sat down next to the True Warrior as the ship pitched in the choppy water. The Sea of Joy was much shallower toward Urthrax, causing the waves to be small but frequent. Soon both of them were smiling as their hair was soaked and hanging limp around their faces from the frequent spray.
“This is the first I’ve seen you smile since we left, Kari,” said Strongiron. “I know I’ve said this before, but I am so very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose a brother like that. How are you doing?” He put an arm on her shoulder.
Kari reached up and grabbed his hand. “Thank you, Strongiron. I am…dealing with it. My parents in Fostler don’t even know yet, I’m sure, and who knows when they will find out.”
“The Queen will dispatch a mage to your village. Don’t worry about that, Kari,” Strongiron reassured her.
“I know, but I should be there. I do feel guilty about that. And I’ve been so angry for the last few days. I don’t know. It makes no sense. I know Magi. We grew up together.”
Strongiron nodded. “I would be angry, too—beyond enraged at the man who murdered my brother.”
Kari shook her head almost imperceptibly and stared past Strongiron, over the water. “Not really at Magi. To be honest, I’m angry at Dymetra.”
Strongiron raised his eyebrows, which seemed to make his bright, blue eyes even brighter and bluer. “Ah. Furious at this newfound God of ours. That I understand, too.” He smiled, but then allowed his face to become serious again. “You were close to Magi.”
“I thought I was. But I didn’t know that man who showed up in the Queen’s court. Something’s happened to him.”
“Your brother said much the same, from what I gather. That he had changed. Perhaps it happened on your mythical Staircase—I’ve heard a tale or two about what can happen on your Climb.”
Kari was shaking her head, spraying a few water droplets around. “No. The last time Kyle saw Magi was before he Climbed. Whatever happened to him on their trip…it was before he Climbed.”
Strongiron rose to his feet and turned away, looking forward, out into the open water, the sea spray heavy all around him. The sun was out, and Kari easily picked up the mini-rainbows from all the light reflecting off the mist. He put his head down. “I should have been in court that morning. Perhaps I could have stopped this.”
Kari stood up and this time put her arm on his shoulder. “No, you could not have. How would you know he would slap me? Or that my brother would attack him? Or that Magi would retaliate with a lethal spell? It is silly for you to feel guilty, which brings me to what I wanted to tell you. About my prayers.”
He turned around to look at her, cocking a single eyebrow. “All right. Continue.”
Kari took a deep breath. “This may sound crazy, but I believe you’re here because I prayed for it to be so.”
Strongiron couldn’t help but snort a little. “You prayed for me to be here?”
“Not exactly you…but I prayed for success, for safety, and I was envisioning a champion.” Kari grabbed his hands in both of hers. “I’ve been thinking, and it just seems strange that you should survive an attempted assassination and join this quest while Miss Sarah, the acolyte you found in Paragatha, should leave at the first opportunity, despite her pronouncements of Faith.”
“Then I would humbly suggest that you made a poor trade. I am no acolyte or devotee, Kari.” He smiled gently. “But I understand that you wish to find meaning in the senseless death of your brother. I
would be asking the same questions, I’m sure.”
“I don’t believe it’s a coincidence,” Kari pressed him.
Strongiron’s smile widened further, but it was becoming a cynical, almost patronizing look. “Kari, there could be several other reasons the Queen sent me away about which you would not have the faintest idea. You have your guardian, and the Lady Ranger is a competent one, for sure. Nevertheless,” he continued before Kari could interrupt, raising his voice slightly. “I will, of course, help your efforts any way that I can. Niku, you will find, is exceptionally well read, whip-smart, and more intuitive than a blind sailor. With our combined efforts, plus those of your Ranger, I’m sure not even the village Elder…what’s his name?”
“Phillip” Kari said with a sigh.
“Yes, not even Phillip will be in much danger. But if you wish to believe that you are now having your prayers answered by our new God, I won’t try and persuade you otherwise. We certainly can use answered prayers.” He smiled again in that same patronizing manner.
Kari stared at the True Warrior. He was massive man. Young, powerfully built. Square-jawed, with dark, wet hair framing his face. And his eyes—they were ice blue. Striking—like people say mine are, she thought.
“You don’t believe in Dymetra, do you?” The salt spray was finally beginning to sting her watery eyes.
“Do you, Miss Kari?” Strongiron replied.
Kari looked away, pushing her fingers through her wet hair. “I will admit, my faith is immature, but it is there, Strongiron. It is there, and it is growing. Surely even you must admit that it is an unlikely set of events that put you on this boat headed to Urthrax right now?”
He held up a hand before she could continue further. “I have seen men worship everything under the sun. I want to believe in something—I do, but I have put my life in the care of my sword arm and little else since I could walk. I know you magic users have more patience for the mystical, the spiritual. That is fine. And our Queen has heard enough. She is convinced, and that is enough for me.”
“It is enough for you to follow orders, but not to believe yourself?” Kari asked.
“Precisely. She has asked me to sell this to the people, so that is what I have done. She asked me to find other believers, so I found others. She has asked me to go with you, so I go with you. But, between us, I am still in need of some convincing. I admit there is a part of me—a large part of me—that embraces this mission if for no other reason than to satisfy some of my own questions about the existence of this newly rediscovered God,” Strongiron confessed with a resigned smile.
“Perhaps that is further reason for you to be here.” Kari smiled, this one almost playful. “Dymetra does wish to be rediscovered, after all.”
“Ha. We shall see, Miss Kari. You can believe I’m here for whatever reason you choose, be it a grand, Godly scheme or an answered prayer. It is enough for me to know that I’m here for one reason only: because my Queen asked.” He patted Kari’s shoulder.
“Then she is lucky to have a General like you. Apparently, you would do anything she asked of you.” Kari continued to blink away the salt spray as the boat was pounded by steady chop.
“Nay, Miss Kari. Not anything.” Strongiron smiled ruefully to himself as he started to turn back around toward the sea.
“LAND!” came the shout above and behind him from one of the sailors. “Land ahead. It is Urthrax, ancient home of the True Clerics.”
Marik
“Master! What are you doing here? Where’s Kyle, Magi, and Venatus—are they back as well?” Tarsh was so excited to see Marik he ran over to hug him.
Marik smiled and clasped him in return. “It’s good to be back, Tarsh. It has been too long, and the journey we undertook was fraught with many obstacles, challenges, and surprises. But there are a few things that I wanted to share with you. Alone.” He gestured at the still form of Nugget, sleeping awkwardly in a chair.
“What is it, Master?” He had Tarsh’s full attention.
“What I’m going to tell you will be difficult for you to hear, but you need to. I believe that Kari’s life is in danger. I understand that she left months ago. You see, Magi has been cursed, Tarsh. He had been close to her, as you of all his friends can appreciate.” He paused here, letting his words sink in a bit. “Of course, Magi had been close to her brother as well, and yet he killed Kyle in a terrible rage. Now I fear for young Kari’s life.”
Tarsh was speechless. “What? Magi killed Kyle? I don’t believe it.”
Marik unrolled the Queen’s decree and showed it to Tarsh. “He is a True Mage now, Tarsh. He has climbed the Staircase, and it was not under my tutelage that he did so.”
Tarsh dropped the flyer and shook his head. “You say he is cursed? Then un-curse him! Before he can do any more harm!” He thought about Kari and sunk his face into his hands. “Kari will be devastated when she finds out about Kyle.”
“She knows. She was right there. Magi was about to kill her when Kyle tried to save her. Then he fled before the Queen’s mage-guards could bind him.” That was mostly true. Marik thought before continuing. “He is not well, Tarsh. But he cannot be healed of this curse—I’ve researched it at all the Great Libraries on the entire continent of Elvidor. None within our Order know of a counter-curse. Whatever it is, it has him. And as a True Mage…he is powerful. I don’t think I need to remind you of that.”
Tarsh pressed on further. “Who did this—how was he cursed?”
Marik took a deep breath and sighed. “Alas, we live in a Dark World, Tarsh. I fear a war is brewing, and a dark mage sought to poison his spirit. To what end, who knows? We were travelling south to see Pilanthas, and somewhere along the way, he changed. There is a small chance that he wasn’t cursed at all—maybe he has always been this way. Or maybe he has run afoul of the gods, or picked up some rare illness that corrupts the mind. I don’t know for sure. All I know is that he’s dangerous, and that he means Kari harm. You care about Kari, don’t you?” The best lies are always surrounded by truth, Marik thought.
He knew Tarsh’s head was spinning as his eyes glazed over—this was a lot for his pupil to absorb. Tarsh really knew Magi. Grew up with him. Roomed with him. Studied with him. This was a friend that would never harm a fly. A gentle friend with a kind word for nearly everyone in school. Even with Ragor Stri—Magi had done him no harm, even though the whole school knew he had cheated in Marik’s tournament. Finally, Tarsh brought his eyes back into focus and looked at Marik. “What has this to do with me, Master?”
“I need your help, Tarsh. He’s already been back here, back to Brigg and our school—some of my most powerful spell books are missing—I know he’s been through my home. The boy you grew up with is no more…he’s a thief, a liar, and a killer. I’m currently looking for a special object, one that will help keep us safe. But I need some help.”
Tarsh wanted to help his Master. If the Queen’s and Marik’s allegations were true— “Of course I’ll help, but why me? Surely you want an older student, one who’s already climbed the Staircase…” Tarsh tried not to sound too bitter, recalling his recent conversation with Serenity.
“These are dark times, Tarsh. As I said, I fear war is brewing. What I need most right now is loyalty. I do not doubt your skill or power—you are twice the mage of most of my former students. Besides, surely you are ready to climb the Staircase now. You were nearly ready when I left.” Marik flashed Tarsh an encouraging smile.
“Serenity won’t let me Climb. She doesn’t think I’m ready.” Now he was bitter.
“Come with me and I’ll show you the spell to Climb before week’s end. Talent identification was never Serenity’s strength, Tarsh. She’s a competent teacher, but she lacks the spark of a truly special mage, and she fails to identify that spark in others as well.” Marik laid it on thick, walking over to grab Tarsh’s hand. “I, however, will not make that same mistake.”
I’ll be able to teleport! “When do we leave?” He asked with a rare s
mile.
Reeled in. “Right now. You’ll find a travelling bag already packed. Take a walk around to make sure I didn’t miss anything, for you won’t be returning any time soon.”
“What about Nugget?” Tarsh asked, somewhat shamefaced.
“He’s a better fit for Serenity’s tutelage, don’t you think?” Marik asked with a wave of his hand, already knowing what the young man’s answer would be.
CHAPTER 23: PROSECUTION OR PERSECUTION
Magi
“The charges?” yelled one of the vassals in Lord Corovant’s Great Hall.
The Lord sat upon a Judgment Throne that would have made Queen Najalas blush. It was an enormous chair, heavily padded, with wide arms of finely polished wood encrusted with jade, rubies, and even diamonds. The back of the chair rose several feet above his head, and it was pure gold, matching Lord Corovant’s own hair. His silken blond hair was also perfectly combed, as usual. He did not, however, look as bored as usual.
Magi had use of only his eyes, and one benefit of having pure white eyes was that he could shift his gaze around and nobody could tell what he was really looking at. Standing to the side of Lord Corovant, he kept his eyes fixed on the man. He saw a Lord who never once took his own eyes off Magi.
“Thievery, murder, malicious spellcasting, and disobeying a direct order from the Queen herself. That is for starters, though I daresay more shall be uncovered.” Another vassal in Lord Corovant’s court answered the call.
Magi moved his eyes a bit further. Though he could not move his neck or waist, he could still see almost half the room just by shifting his eyes around. He saw a fool in one of the corners, juggling oddly-shaped fruit. Corovant never bothered to pay his jester so much as a glance. He knew the room behind him was packed.
“Proceed,” the Lord said stiffly.
The first vassal cleared his throat and called out loudly, “First witness: Manny the fishmonger.”
A dirty, disheveled man made his way slowly to the front. Magi smelled him long before he came within the mage’s field of vision. The smell of sour wine, fish, salt, and sweat as he passed made many in the Hall gasp. He recognized him instantly as the swindler he’d encountered a year ago on his first trip to Gaust with Lionel, Sindar, and Kyle. Kyle.
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 53