The man fixed his eyes on Phillip, who noticed for the first time that they were grey-blue. “Good luck finding yer friend. I’ve told you what I know, and if it’s all the same, I mean to collect my gold for this shipment and be off. I’d get out of here myself, if I were you.”
He didn’t say another word, but started walking away, back toward The Grateful Tears. Soon the glow of his lamp was indistinguishable from the others, all bobbing up and down in the gloom of the fog. It was now night in full, and the sounds of the ship’s unloading seemed to fade. Best to head back. Phillip turned around to the deserted street behind him.
That was when he noticed several balls of light moving toward him, surrounding him in the cold mist of night.
Marik
It was early morning at the docks off the western edge of Gaust. Marik, Tarsh, and Trevor, who was hungover and quite grumpy, finally found a ship planning to sail west this time of year. The name of the boat was Sheila’s Bane. Her captain, whom Marik negotiated payment with, was a dour man named Zephyr. Captain Z, his crew called him. As they finalized business that morning, Trevor asked Captain Z, “why the name Sheila’s Bane”?
“She’s me mistress,” he said, pointing his thumb at the ship. “Sheila was me wife. Ain’t the mistress always the bane of every wife?” He smiled a crooked smile and took his gold back to the crew, ordering them to buy more supplies for a long voyage. They would depart later that morning from Gaust, and Trevor sure looked like he’d enjoy this ship much better than the Modest Mermaid.
After leaving the dock, the three of them went their separate ways for a few hours. Marik thought about reaching out to Xaro. He decided against it. This update would better be delivered in person. Besides—when Xaro wanted an update, he reached out himself. So he took the time to replenish some of his spell components and to study his spells. He also reread the description of the ring found in Wyzle’s book, which he had copied before returning it to the Library. There could be no mistake; it was as he feared—a unique ring of magical protection. Karwin the Short’s ring, to be specific. No wonder Xaro wanted it so badly. He would be nearly invincible with it. Of course, so would Magi. And so would I. Xaro needed to be told that Magi could not be controlled, and that he not only possessed the ring, but knew what it did. But if Marik couldn’t claim it for himself, he certainly didn’t want to stick around on Elvidor now that Magi could teleport. Best to leave Magi to the Queen’s ransom.
Trevor returned to the docks soon after Marik arrived, looking as if he had gone back to bed. Tarsh was not long in coming, having made a few exotic purchases of his own while in town. With the morning growing late, Captain Z greeted them on the dock. “We’re all set. You three ready to come aboard?”
Marik nodded and led them toward the boarding plank. “Let’s go Tarsh, Trevor.”
“Wait.”
The familiar voice startled Marik, who turned around. Magi had appeared behind them.
“I don’t think we ever said goodbye…Master.”
CHAPTER 26: THE CHOICES OF MEN; THE POWER OF WOMEN
Strongiron
“There is something strange about that barkeep,” Strongiron said as he lugged their supplies into their large room and shut the door behind them. He set the packs down as Kari lit some oil lamps.
All of them were startled to see Quentin, huddled in a corner, holding a hastily scribbled message that he handed Strongiron. “Quentin!” he gasped. “What happened? We sent Niku and Phillip to search for you after you ran off. What is going on?”
Quentin smiled and pointed to the note Strongiron was holding. He read it softly aloud to the others:
“Sorry to leave in haste. You must leave quickly, too. Many men here are possessed by a terrible evil. I do not know for sure where they came from or why they are here…but I have suspicions. They cut the tongues out of all mages—Niku’s white eyes betray him. They will do the same to him and will torture all of you. You cannot defeat them—they are undead spirits. Like wights, they feed off fear and pain, torturing the denizens of this town, but unlike a wight they have no physical form. They exist only as spirits, and must possess a host to feed. They take control of you for a night or a week…and you do terrible things to one another to feed their zeal for anguish. Sons do not trust their fathers; daughters do not trust their mothers. Nobody trusts anyone here, not knowing who is possessed and who is not until it is too late. It is a waking nightmare every day, and every night you hear the screams of various townspeople suffering…but never dying. Oh no, we are not allowed to die. We are playthings to them. No one leaves, and no one enters—the cursed bridge sees to that. They import food to keep us alive, and those that try killing themselves find their spirit tied to the gorge—you heard their voices, I’m sure. We all did, and knew visitors were coming. Only a True Cleric, if such a thing exists, could bind these foul creatures. Some of us are possessed several times a month; others seem to be permanently possessed. One such is the barkeep—he was the one who took my tongue, lest I teleport away.
You will not survive the night. We must leave now!”
Strongiron slowly closed his eyes after reading this and bowed his head. Just then Niku knocked and was let in by Kari. “I could not find h—” he started to say when he saw Quentin seated there. “Quentin!” He stood up and walked over to clasp his hands in greeting. “I went looking for you. Phillip and I did. Where have you been this past year? Why did you run? What happened to your voice?”
Strongiron just handed him the letter in silence, while Niku caught up. “My God,” was all he said. “Oh Quentin…” He shook his head. “I cannot heal your tongue. A tear, or a puncture, a broken bone—those we can handle. But to grow a new appendage is beyond our Art, you of all must know this. You had a certain flair for healing, if I recall.”
Quentin nodded, his face expressionless as he scribbled another note:
“But you can still leave, Master. Teleport!”
“And leave everyone else here?” Niku frowned. “You know I will not do that. Kari here is looking for evidence of the ancient God, of Dymetra, who it is said favored even the Archmage Quixatalor. It has been given to us by the Queen that she should find knowledge, wisdom, and understanding. We have heard of the ancient Tower where True Clerics had in ages past studied together. It is called Dariez. Have you heard of this place?” the mage asked.
Quentin nodded and began writing again, as quickly as he could:
Yes…perhaps we have a chance. There are catacombs underneath Shu-Tybor. They are guarded, but so are the lagoon to the south and the bridges to the north, east, and west. If you mean to leave together, the catacombs are the only way, and it will be a fight.
He stopped scribbling and paused, looking up at everyone. After a sigh he continued writing:
I believe these undead spirits were summoned to Shu-Tybor to keep God-Seekers from finding the catacombs…from finding the Tower of Dariez. I have heard some of the possessed mention their God. I did not believe it, but I have heard his name mentioned so often that there must be a link. It is always mentioned by those possessed, usually when they torture us. They often invoke the name of Kuth-Cergor, and refer to themselves as Watchers. We must leave now, before they come here en masse.
Strongiron stood up and put his massive hand over the hilt of his giant two-handed sword. “Lead the way, Quentin.”
As they repacked their supplies, taking only essentials, Rebecca stopped and said, “What about Phillip? He did not return with you, Niku.”
They all looked at one another, and at Quentin, who just shook his head.
Again Niku spoke up. “We agreed—against my better judgment—to separate in order to cover both ends of the city. I should not have left him alone.” He lowered his head. “We cannot leave him to this fate. It is an abomination, what has been done to this town. If there were more of us, we could free it from the grip of these demons.”
Quentin, still shaking his head, this time a little more animatedly, wrote
as everyone gathered around him:
Your friend has probably been taken already. Nobody walks the streets. Nobody! It would take an army of True Clerics led by Windomere himself to send these spirits away. I don’t see how a real God would allow such evil to exist, but pray to Her now if you are so inclined. She rules over a Dark World, and Shu-Tybor is about the darkest place you’ll find.
He threw the note at Kari and left, without waiting to see if anyone was following him. They all hurried to catch up.
Magi
At the sound of Magi’s voice, Tarsh also spun around, and Magi could see his white eyes, scarred face, and burned head. So…you are also a True Mage now. And by the looks of you, it was costly. Good. Let us see how talented you are without Ragor lurking in the shadows to trip me.
Pushing aside that this man had grown up with him, shared a room with him, studied with him, ate with him, laughed with him—he focused instead on what Ragor had told him: that he sought to court Kari as soon as Magi left to learn his prophecy. And now to see him travelling with Marik…
Magi was brought out of his thoughts by a sudden attack from his bald-headed, former friend. With unexpected agility, Tarsh sent a series of magic projectiles at Magi while simultaneously putting up an obvious shield spell.
The missiles dissipated harmlessly when they got within a few feet of Magi. He smiled and laughed, twisting his ring for the first time in many months, as was his oldest habit. He glanced over at Marik, who seemed to be frozen, staring at Magi’s ring. So you know now what it does, too. What a difference a year makes—a year ago you could have asked for it and like a fool I would have given it to you, ‘Master’.
Magi scoffed as he saw Marik frantically casting a defensive spell himself, at which time his former Master started shouting “Mage Guards! I have found the rogue Mage! He is there—Guards! Secure him!” He then took a step toward the plank to board Sheila’s Bane.
Smiling, Magi sent a missile into the boarding plank and turned it into kindling and driftwood.
Magi then noticed a third man, smaller than Tarsh and Marik, slink away, finding some cover behind a tall row of crates that were stacked along the banks of the pier. He did not recognize him, but he did not appear to be a serious threat at the moment. He returned his focus to the two mages, and found Marik had turned around to face him.
“Magi. You’ve found me. I am sorry to hear that you haven’t been behaving. Please excuse Tarsh, I believe he’s still upset over Kyle’s murder,” Marik said loudly.
Captain Z, who was watching this spectacle from behind the railing on his main deck, rang a bell he kept aboard for land calls shouted: “He’s back! The rogue mage is back! Mage guards! Come quick!”
Between Marik and Captain Z’s shouts, soon activity picked up around the pier. A small mob formed, circling the three men in a wide ring. More shouts rang out, and the crowd became larger and larger as people came by to see what the commotion was all about. Magi kept an eye on the little man as he moved from behind the crates to blend into the crowd.
Magi, Tarsh, and Marik began to slowly circle one another. One of the men in the crowd recognized Magi from the recent Trial and leapt at him, arms outstretched. Magi paralyzed him effortlessly without even looking toward him. In his heightened state of awareness that always washed over him whenever his magic flowed, Magi could hear the soft footfalls and the swishing of robes from several Mage Guards that had come upon the scene and were slowly encircling him. The paralyzed man tumbled to the ground without even a shout, falling at an awkward angle, skinning his face when he landed. Magi just stepped over him.
“I see you have learned restraint, in spite of your power,” Marik said. “That was one of the things I struggled to teach you.”
“You may find I am yet a slow learner.” He again lost himself to the magic and brought forth an air hammer—the same spell that split open Kyle’s head back when he tolerated him. Only this time, it was not the clumsy cast of a mage who was learning his own power. He unleashed it with malice on Tarsh.
The echo from the blow caused the boats next to the pier to rock as the water rolled from the echo, even flipping one of the small lifeboats tethered to Sheila’s Bane in the harbor. The crowd screamed as the ground shook, with people falling all over one another. Several large trees wobbled from the aftershock.
It was a killing blow that cost Magi less energy to cast than he might expend trapping butterflies. Tarsh screamed and crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from another gash to his face. His legs and arms were shattered, and his ribs were crushed. Only his shield spell had kept him clinging to life. But he was near death, lying on the pier in a lump of flesh and clothing.
The crowd began running in all directions in a panic. Seven or eight Mage Guards sought to bind Magi, but their spells grasped nothing but air. He was completely immune from their magic. He flashed a twisted little smile and then sent a series of lightning bolts into the nearest Mage Guards, ripping through their shield spells like cotton armor.
Marik began summoning an enormous lightning bolt of his own, sending it toward Magi. It seemed to strike a wall in front of him and the power dissipated harmlessly. But during the lightning flashes, he drew his dagger and charged Magi.
Believing his ring was the only defense he needed, Magi was taken aback by the charge and was slow to cast a shield. He heard one of the Mage Guards yell “Ropes! Spears and Rope!” Then Marik was on him.
He grabbed Marik’s arm, and they proceeded to tumble to the ground, Magi straining to keep his former Master’s blade away from him. He wants to kill me close so he can take my ring!
It was then that Magi remembered his test on the Staircase. The lone wolf, up close, tearing him apart—because he was unable to use his magic. That will not happen to me again.
Magi was stronger than Marik. Younger and stronger. But Marik was fighting with an unbridled fury—like the rage of a rabid, hungry dog—that it more than made up for the mismatch in size. Marik was on top of him, with all his weight bearing down on the dagger that was inching closer and closer to Magi’s chest.
Magi lost himself to his Art. He could not reach his belt for any spell components, but fortunately this spell didn’t call for any. As the point of the knife began to scratch his tunic, he electrified his hands, and the jolt caused Marik to drop the knife in agony and roll off him.
Magi immediately turned his attention to the Mage Guards who were charging him now that Marik was off him. He cast a ring of fire around both he and Marik, causing the few remaining citizens in the crowd to scream and flee as the wall of flame formed a wide circle around the two men. Several Mage Guards could not stop their charge in time and plunged into the red-hot flames, dropping their spears and ropes and falling to the ground immediately in agony. One cast a water spell to try and put the flaming wreath out, but it had nowhere near the power that Magi’s spell did; all it did was fill the pier with steam.
Marik stood up, still shaking his scorched wrists where Magi had shocked him. He had backed up inside the fire ring as far as he could—there was nowhere he could run. Magi saw him look at the dagger on the ground, and he kicked it into the flames. He saw Marik try and teleport, but Magi just laughed at him.
“Do you like my new spell? I created it just for such a moment, Marik. I figured we should have some uninterrupted privacy. Now they can’t teleport in,” he said with a sweeping gesture, “And we can’t teleport out. Is it warm enough for you?” Magi began slowly walking toward Marik, cutting off any angle he might run inside the ring of flame.
Magi continued. “There is a price for thievery in this Dark World, Marik. Tarsh stole Kari, and you have seen the price he has paid. Who was the little man that was travelling with you?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, Magi. Look—you are not yourself. End this madness, and you and I can teleport back to Brigg and discuss what has happened. I have answers for you. Be reasonable—”
“And what did you steal from
me, Marik?” Magi interrupted, raising his voice over the roaring flames, still approaching Marik slowly. “Shall we tally it up? Let’s see, one could say you stole my parents, my life, some would even say my soul. I have your answers. I’ll ask again: what price should I exact for your thievery, since we’ve already established the price that friends of Marik shall pay?” he motioned over his shoulder at the pile of Tarsh that could barely be seen through the fire haze. “What is reasonable, Marik Kinshaw?” he repeated, standing in front of his former Master.
“I know why you are the way you are. I can help you! Please, Magi! Listen to me!” screamed Marik. “It is the Scroll. Mercy, Magi! I raised you. This is not you!”
“This,” Magi whispered in his former master’s ear, “is who I am.” He reached out, once again with electricity on his hands, and he grasped Marik’s cheeks, staring into his eyes. With his back to the flames, Marik reached up and grabbed each of Magi’s wrists to pull them off his face, but his damaged hands were too weak. Magi delivered a tiny jolt with the same Electrified Hands spell he had just used. What he delivered to Marik this time was little more than a static shock. “See, I have learned restraint.” Magi smiled, as he slowly allowed more of his own power to flow into the spell.
Slowly the power built, the shock increasing, with Marik shaking and screaming as Magi pressed his hands forcibly into his cheeks. Magi would not allow him to pass out or collapse, but kept ratcheting up the power. Tears streamed down Marik’s face, and his hair began to burn from the electricity coursing through him. The torture lasted less than a minute, but Magi made sure it was the longest minute of his former master’s life. He sent the final waves of electricity into Marik, focusing on everything this man had stolen from him. Releasing him, Marik gave a final cry, more of a whimper, his whole body convulsing. And then Magi finally let go, allowing his former master to collapse into a smoldering heap, dead. “Tarsh taught me that spell,” he muttered under his breath.
In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) Page 59