In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1)

by Steve M. Shoemake

  “What’s going on, Trevor? I’ve never felt as many dirty looks as I feel now. I have half a mind to put a shield spell up, just for good measure. What has happened since I left you to visit the Great Library?” Marik looked disdainfully at the thief, who was clearly in his cups.

  “I should ask a similar question of you. While you were traipsing around making new friends—who are you?” He stopped suddenly and stared at Marik’s friend suspiciously.

  “He is with me.” Marik was clearly annoyed at the interruption. “Another mage, a former student of mine. I’ve told him of our plans—we will need the help. Especially if all you can manage to nick is a free mug of ale. Go on.”

  “My name is Tarsh.” He didn’t extend a hand, just nodded slightly at the Master Thief.

  “Hmm. Tarsh. Very well,” Trevor sneered. “Hope your skills are as strong as this Magi’s, cause—”

  “I’ve beaten him before.” Tarsh interrupted. He left out the details.

  Trevor grinned. “Well, that’s just grand. Our prayers are answered, Marik! Well done, we have our savior! Wench! Drinks for—”

  Marik grabbed Trevor’s tunic and almost pulled the thief out of his boots. “Shut your mouth. I will ask you this one, last, time. What happened while I was away?”

  “Let me go, and I’ll tell you,” Trevor said through gritted teeth. Marik released him, and for a moment, he thought about using the small blade in his boot to gut Marik. He was pretty sure he could disappear before Tarsh could do anything—the kid might be a True Mage, but he still looked pretty green. But Xaro would not be pleased, and that was enough to stay his hand.

  He rubbed his neck. “I was just getting to that. You may want a drink when I tell you what’s happened.” He told them about the Trial, the ring, the prophetess, and the escape. It took him several rounds to finish the tale, with Marik alternating from incensed to pensive the entire time. Tarsh was far more difficult to read.

  They sat in silence for a moment before Marik said, “So, he has the ring.”

  Trevor nodded. “He does. Although, The Modest Mermaid is looking for a new first mate. It would have gone better for poor Helmut had we gotten to him first. He clearly had no idea what that trinket did, else he’d never have come forward when Magi pointed him out. Lord Corovant convicted him of aiding a murderer on the spot, and put an end to his sailing career right there in his Great Hall.” But not before I removed my amulet from the wretched thief in the ensuing chaos. I can nick quite a bit more than a free mug of ale, my friend. Trevor stared at the wall, one hand around his mug, the other patting an inner pouch.

  “Where do you think we’ll find him?” Tarsh said, turning to Marik.

  Marik shook his head, clearly upset at the news that Magi had the ring, and knows what it does. “I don’t think finding him is our priority any longer. The trick is leaving before he finds us. Finish your ale—we check out tonight and find passage tomorrow morning across the sea to Ipidine. It is time we regroup at Sands End with Xaro.”

  Trevor looked at Tarsh. “And him?”

  Tarsh narrowed his eyes, but Marik put a hand on his shoulder. “He comes. Xaro needs all the magic he can get.”

  Kari

  Shu-Tybor was a strange, quiet hamlet surrounded by a massive lagoon to the south that seemed larger than the Sea of Hate. It was surrounded by forest on the remaining three sides, with the gorge to the north, although following the crack in the earth, it certainly looked as if the gorge rimmed the city to the east and west as well, like a semi-circular rip in the ground. The city really did appear to have natural—and unnatural—boundaries everywhere.

  Usually one could spot the signs of a community on the outskirts well before coming upon the main settlement, be it large or small. Not this place. Niku, Kari, Rebecca, Strongiron, and Phillip all burst forth from a small trail through the woods and came upon the village. Houses were close together, and nobody wandered the streets, though there was smoke rising from most every chimney. They came upon it in mid-afternoon, on a cold but sunny wintery day, and not a soul could be seen. Kari pulled her cloak more tightly around her.

  “Folk here have thin blood,” Strongiron said cheerily to the group to try and break the tense silence.

  “Come. Let us find an inn and get warm.” Niku continued walking, head on a swivel, watching the trees, watching the homes, watching the windows, just…watching. Kari followed quickly behind, thinking an inn sounded like the best idea in days.

  They came to a tavern, likely one of only a few in the small hamlet, paradoxically called The Noisy Saint. “Even the birds keep to themselves here, so I daresay that the saints are hardly noisier. But there’s smoke rising, so a fire must be lit. Come on.” Niku pushed open the door.

  Every head in the tavern turned at once to see who had entered. Nobody said a word, but the bartender, a handsome, middle-aged man, maybe thirty years old, smiled and nodded at one of the tables. As they sat down, the patrons began to ignore them again—at least, they stopped staring. They even began to hear mutterings and closely guarded conversations. It was the first noise Kari had heard since they came upon the town (that they themselves weren’t making).

  A fairly young man, somewhat disheveled, came up to them, with his head down. He was mute, but was clearly asking for their orders. He nodded after each one asked for a drink, mostly spiced wine. However, he stopped when he got to Niku. He looked up, and his eyes grew wide, almost terrified. They were pure-white.

  Niku stared at the man intently. “Quentin?” he asked in shock, almost to himself. Kari could barely hear him. Ever cautious, he started to stand up slowly. “Is that you?”

  Before he could say another word, the server scrawled something on a scrap of parchment he’d been using for orders, tossed it in front of the True Mage, and hastily departed. Niku picked it up and read it softly to the others.

  You should not have come. Eternal Danger.

  “Quentin! Wait! Come back! What is going on?” Niku yelled after him. The server had disappeared into the kitchen.

  Everyone in the tavern stared at the group again. Strongiron put a hand on Niku’s shoulder in case he was thinking about running after him. The True Mage blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes before sitting back down, clearly on edge.

  “What does that mean?” Kari asked. “Who is he?”

  Niku turned to Kari, somewhat exasperated. “That was one of my mages from Rookwood. His name was Quentin—a talented fellow, particularly with healing. The Queen sent him here a year ago, maybe longer, on the same mission we now find ourselves on: to find evidence of True Clerics when our friend here first informed us of Xaro and his plans.” He nodded toward Strongiron and continued. “Quentin never returned, and we assumed he had been killed. That seemed only logical when we saw that Malenec had destroyed Ilbindale, which would have been Quentin’s most likely landing spot. But apparently he found Shu-Tybor, and yet could not come back to tell us anything. Something is terribly wrong—Quentin is no mute.”

  “You can say that again,” Rebecca chimed in. “Something’s been wrong ever since we crossed that cursed bridge. It is far too quiet, and for a city by the water, there is nobody outside doing anything. It is not that cold. Surely there should be people in a city this size outside moving about, to hunt, to farm, to buy, to sell, to make or to mend things. There is none of that going on. And look at the people in this tavern. If this is a typical tavern crowd, than I am a princess.”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned forward. “Just look at their faces. They look terrified and…uninviting. I have travelled through more than my share of cities and villages, and I have never felt less welcome someplace in my life…and I hardly needed a note from this Quentin to confirm my intuition.”

  “I do not like the sound of eternal danger, that’s for sure,” said Phillip in a hushed tone.

  Kari listened, but her training as an illusionist made her quite adept at paying attention to multiple things at once, to the sma
llest of details that might need recreating. How smoke curls to reflect a breeze, or how a clenched fist indicated tension. She listened to her companions while shifting her eyes around the room to gauge the other patron’s reaction to the brief scene. The barkeep is listening to our conversation. Quentin had disappeared into the back room of The Noisy Saint, and had not returned to any other tables. Kari finally interrupted the current conversation.

  “We are being watched,” she said, looking at Strongiron and Niku. “The barkeep.”

  “Quiet, everyone. The walls have ears, and until we know what is going on here, all of us must be discreet! No names. I’m going to take a look around back.” He got up to leave.

  Phillip put his arm on him. “Stay. You need to keep an eye on her.” He flashed his eyes toward Kari, and lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “Let me see if I can find him. I’m the—most expendable.”

  Nobody else said a word. They all looked at Phillip, almost startled. Rebecca, in particular, was leaning back, head cocked, just staring at him. He set his jaw and said quietly, “I can do this. We need to find and talk to him, obviously. Or write with him. Whatever.”

  Niku put his hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “I will go with you. He knows me.”

  Strongiron leaned forward and pointed at Niku. “I am not sure it is wise for either you or me to leave the group.”

  Kari leaned forward as well. “I can take care of myself. Rebecca and I—”

  Niku hissed, “No names!”

  Rebecca interrupted, leaning even further forward, her whispers more audible yet. “I can track him down if you wish to question him. I will go—”

  Niku put his hand up to gently to quiet the table. He looked at Strongiron. He narrowed his eyes. “If the roles were reversed, and one of your commanders that you thought had been lost suddenly turned up, would you not go yourself to bring him back?”

  Strongiron rubbed his dark brown stubble. Sighing, he said, “Yes, I imagine I would. Very well, you two go and find him. Do not delay, and cover as much ground as quickly as you can. We will get a room here, and join us in one hour whether you have found him or not.” The True Warrior looked at both Niku and Phillip, who both nodded slightly.

  Kari wasn’t sure when Strongiron’s word had become final in the group, but it clearly had, as she watched Niku defer to him. After a minute, he and Phillip quietly got up and left the inn while the others began talking about the décor, the weather, the spiced wine they were still waiting for—nothing important. They kept the conversation light for nearly three-quarters of the next hour.

  Finally the barkeep started to walk over, a warm smile on his face. “I’m sorry my staff has ignored you. It is not often that we get visitors—I think they get used to serving only the regulars. But it sounded like you knew one of them?”

  “No, just a familiar face,” Strongiron replied before the others could say a word. “How long have you been in Shu-Tybor?”

  The Barkeep continued to smile pleasantly. “A very long time. May I get you some rooms? You won’t find a better price anywhere in town.”

  Strongiron kept his level gaze on the man. “Yes we will take your largest room for tonight. We’re used to camping together.”

  “One night only? That would be an unusually short stay in our lovely village. I’m sure you’ll want to stay longer?” The barkeep asked.

  Strongiron said simply, “Let’s start with tonight. I know my friends and I will welcome a roof over our head. We’ll discuss staying a few extra days this evening, and let you know in the morning. Is that fair enough?”

  The barkeep nodded slowly. “As you wish. Come then, let me show you the way.”

  Phillip

  The sun was beginning to fall as Phillip and Niku left The Noisy Saint. Pulling their cloaks tight around them, they looked at the deserted street bathed in the soft glow of twilight. “Let’s start out back,” said Niku.

  They found a rear door that opened up into a narrow street stretching in both directions, with each path leading to several side streets dotted with several shops and homes and other unmarked dwellings.

  Niku turned to Phillip. “It would appear we must split up if we are to canvass the entire street before nightfall. Our party does not want us to linger apart from them more than that, and frankly I am inclined not to be wandering these unfamiliar roads after sunset either. Phillip,” he paused and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I am not inclined to split up, however. I would feel much better if I could stay with you as we searched. More protection in pairs.”

  You do not trust me. You think I’m a weakling who turned back on the bridge. All of you do. Phillip steeled himself and looked the True Mage in the eye. “Niku, I am not unfamiliar with this.” Phillip drew his sword. “Just because I serve as an Elder does not mean I am unskilled. I never intended you to join me when I volunteered in the first place. We need to find your mage if we are to find out what is going on here. And the sooner we do that, the better. You head right, and I will head left, and we shall come back to the inn when the sky shifts from blue to black. Trust me—if I find this Quentin, I’m only going to ask for your friend to come speak or write to us. There will be no trouble. I can handle this…unless you are hoping that we stick together so that I can help protect you?” He smiled, trying not to appear nervous. I’m just going to ask people if they’ve seen a mute named Quentin. I can do this. He had to prove himself to be more than a pack mule on this trip if he had any hope of elevating his status once again. Or impressing Rebecca.

  Niku finally clapped his back and smiled. “Yes, I suppose it is safe enough. If you find him, tell him you are my friend, and ask that he come back to the inn to communicate with us. If he will not come, then find out what you can and tell him to wait wherever he is and that we will come get him.” He nodded to the left and said, “Be careful, Phillip. I will look on the streets to the right. See you back at The Noisy Saint within an hour.”

  Niku headed right, walking toward the first small home nearby. Phillip turned left and did the same. When he got to the first house, a slit in the door was pulled open at eye level and Phillip saw two eyes staring at him from inside, but they would not open the door or say a word. There was no answer at the next either, even though smoke rose from a chimney. Phillip came to a smitty’s workshop, and the fires were still lit. A piece of metal, no longer red-hot but still recently hammered, was lying on an anvil. Phillip called out, even called Quentin by name, but nobody answered. He quietly slid his sword out of its scabbard; it made him less tense.

  The sky was now dark purple, cold, and clear. The brightest stars were already visible after forty minutes or so of searching. He rounded the last side street and began to smell the salt in the air as he was closing in on a wharf. The southern edge of Shu-Tybor opened up to the massive inland sea. There was a ship tied up there, and a cold fog hung eerily over the entire dock, punctuated by the dull glow of several lamps. One such light swayed to-and-fro as the hand that held it paced beside the boat. Phillip approached the light cautiously.

  “I say, hello there.” Phillip began in a friendly tone. “I was wondering if you’ve seen someone.”

  The light from the lamp jerked as the startled man appeared to spin around at Phillip’s greeting. “Who goes there?” he shouted. “Show yerself!”

  “My name is Phillip,” he said. “I come looking for a friend—that is all.” He did not, however, sheathe his sword. The fog was so thick he could not make out the face of the sailor, just the light from the man’s lamp.

  “There are no friends here. Be gone! I want nothing to do with you.”

  Phillip continued to approach the man. “Just a question, sir.” He finally came upon the man, having to stand mere feet away to see his face through the icy sea-fog that covered the wharf.

  The man had a wild look in his eyes, carried a lamp in one hand and a long dagger in the other. His long hair was mostly grey, with a just a few streaks of black remaining. “You stay right
there. Come a step closer and I’ll feed the birds with your body.” He held the dagger in front of the lamp. He looked up slightly through the fog. “If there were any,” he added.

  Phillip stopped in his tracks. He held his sword point down, non-threateningly. “As you say, no closer. I mean no harm, sir. I come from afar, and have recently found a friend in this city at a nearby tavern. He was scared, and ran before I could find out what happened. His name is Quentin, and he does not talk. He is a True Mage—you would know him by his white eyes. He may have run this way. Do you know him?”

  The man cocked his head. “Not from around here, eh? Well, you’d best go back from wherever you came. Yer not likely to find yer friend.”

  “Why do you say that?” probed Phillip. “There aren’t many places he could be staying at.”

  The man took one step closer toward Phillip. He lowered his dagger, but did not put it away. “Look. I captain that boat over there, The Grateful Tears. One of the few left that supply this city from Shraal, Pex-Grie, and Kekero. I sail all over the Sea of Sorrows. Half the food and drink that comes into this city comes from my ship right over there. Few other captains will even come here anymore. I do…because the gold is good. They pay double, and I’m too old to worry about the rumors and the stories…but I see the dock workers. I may not worry about the stories, but I don’t venture far off these docks, neither.

  “Yer not likely to find yer friend because there isn’t a soul here that will talk to you. My own crew won’t even step off the boat. We get to port and they all disappear into their cabins—queerest thing I’ve seen. I’d fire the lot of ’em, but I’ve learned the hard way that new crew members aren’t any better. I’m the only one that watches the unloading of my cargo and collects the gold. My crew won’t show their faces, and I doubt you’ll see anyone else either. The whole city is cursed, son. People here just ain’t right. The dock workers that unload my boat—if you got close enough to see their faces you’d see what I mean. They look…hollow, son. Hungry. Desperate. Those bouncing lights you see around my ship? Those are the dock workers. Seems like we’re always unloading in a fog bank.”