In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (2 page)

“YIELD!”
screamed the Master-at-Arms.  Bertram was a short, stocky fellow who might have been as wide as he was tall.  Almost.  He called for healers while the enraged ogre howled at Xaro.  “You have bested our ogre, Xaro.  Nobody has ever defeated him in single-combat before.  This test is reserved for those I feel need—humbling.”

Xaro finished wiping the blood off his blade and leaned
against it when he looked up to address Bertram.  “It appears you’ll need to find some other means to humble me, if that is your intent.” 
I haven’t met man or beast yet that could humble me, fool.  Keep trying.

“Your
own arrogance will do that for me.  I give you full credit for your victory, but you are destined to be nothing more than a mercenary.  The iron god Thorax disdains human pride, and will deal with you at his pleasure.”

Xaro smiled at the Master-at-Arms.  “If a god is to humble me, I assure you Thorax will not be his name.”  He sheathed his sword
. “I am ready for the Warrior’s Test.”

~Magi~

Gaust was a city
alive. 
For all eighteen years of his life, Magi had only known the sleepy village of Brigg, tucked away near mountains to the North and East, and thick forest to the South.  But to the West lay the Sea of Love, and Gaust was the gateway off the continent of Elvidor.  Two large statues marked the city entrance, just south of the River Elomere that flowed down from the Crystal Mountains and into the Sea of Love.

It was a
city.
  Not a village—a real city, with streets lined with magical glow balls, large open markets, towering buildings, and streets made of stone and brick, not hard-packed soil.  There was a distinctive saltiness in the air from its proximity to the sea.  But the over-riding smell was one of refuse.  The splendor and wealth of the city seemed at odds with the impoverished humanity that huddled together off side streets and by the shipping docks, poorly clothed and living in their own filth.  There did not seem to be many Knights around to keep order, and it did not take long for hungry eyes to begin turning toward Magi and his companions, whispering and pointing.  One nearby man with few teeth and many facial sores laughed at them as he sloshed some brown drink down the front of his shirt, aiming for his mouth.

“Boys, take a good, long look
,” Sindar said. “This here is a real city.  It’s dangerous—from now on, we stick together at all times.  I don’t need Marik cursing me ’cause a couple of his students wandered into a mess they couldn’t get clear of.  I can deal with steel handshakes and cutpurses, but I don’t need no Mage throwing spice at me.  You boys stay
close.”
  Sindar stared at them as he narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow.  “You, too, Ranger.”

“Oh, what would I ever do without your protection, you big
, strong man!”  Lionel mocked in a high voice.  “Yes, you lummox—we’ll
both
keep an eye open for trouble and see that we get what we came for.  Marik gave us both these charges to be his eyes and ears, remember?  And last time I checked, our little spellweavers came in handy.”  Lionel turned to face one of the two grand statues marking the entrance to Gaust off the main road.

Magi gazed at the statues as well.  “What are these?  They
’re enormous.”  The statue on his left was of a man holding a net in one hand, a spear in the other.  It looked to be marble or granite and was at least twenty feet tall.  The statue on the right was a beautiful, smiling mermaid who seemed to be eternally staring at the fisherman across the road.  Looking closely, Magi could tell that the statues hadn’t been cleaned for awhile.  They were yellowing, and in places were chipped.

“Aye.  Been here for ages.  I’m sure a scribe somewhere could tell you who built
’em, but they’ve been here welcoming visitors forever, as far as I know.  Story goes that the city was built to harvest the treasures of the Sea, and that pretty mermaid over there watches him to see he don’t take too much out, know what I mean?”  Sindar walked across the road and patted the mermaid’s tail appreciatively.  “The way I see it, women are the bane of men, mermaids the bane of sea folk.”

Magi thought about Kari
, Kyle’s sister. 
She’s not the bane of anyone—

Lionel
’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Yes, that’s basically it.   But on to more important matters.  The scroll that your Master asked you to find—did he tell you where to look in the city?”

“It’s called the Scroll of Tralatus.
  He said to start with the Great Library.  He stressed that it was very important that we bring it to him.”  Magi caught Kyle staring at the Mermaid’s bosom while Lionel was speaking.  He smiled and turned to face his three companions. “That’s all I know about it.”

“Hmmph.  And what do we do when we find it?  Is it for sale?  Does he expect us to become thieves?”  Sindar asked everyone, but he was looking at Lionel.

“We will
not
be stealing it.  Marik would never abide that.  We shall buy it, copy it, or memorize it.”  Magi said.

“Or
borrow
it,” Lionel offered.  “Doesn’t matter at the moment…we’ll plot that course when we find the ship, as they say here.  First, let’s find this Library.”  He started walking briskly, passing underneath the statues and headed into the city proper.

As Magi hurried after him, his
attention was distracted (as was so often the case) by the ring he had had since he was a child – a gift from his father that he wore on his right middle finger. He twisted it, feeling the slight moisture around his finger underneath the pure silver.
 
Mounted atop the silver band was a small onyx square that housed a diamond-shaped emerald. 
It is an unusual combination, for sure.

“Quit playing with your ring and teach me that freezing spell,” Kyle said with a smile as he caught up to Magi, clapping his hand against his back as they both entered the largest city either of the young men had ever seen.

~Xaro~

Unlike the Staircase—the supernatural test that defines a True Mage—the Warrior’s Test was very informal.  There were false clerics, amateur thieves, clumsy assassins, and unskilled Warriors that did their best to scratch out a living in Tenebrae.  There were, however, no false mages—you either were a True Mage or you weren’t, and your eyes gave you away.

Except in Xaro’s case
—but it had taken him many years to create a spell that would disguise his nature.  In the end, it wasn’t even his own skill and magic that allowed him to recreate his brown eyes.  No.  It was a prayer to his God, Kuth-Cergor, that gave him the knowledge of how to do it.  It was one of his final lessons while he studied in the lost Tower of Dariez, where the ancient True Clerics were said to have amassed their knowledge and wisdom.  All it had cost him was a life of servitude—a small price to pay.  He considered it an honor to serve a true deity in a world awash in false worship, and looked forward to ushering in a new Kingdom as the Right-Hand of Kuth-Cergor.

So when he heard Bertr
am speak of the “test,” he bit his tongue.  “The Warrior’s Test, eh?  You think a slash to the back of the knees of one ogre qualifies you to be a Warrior?  Your arrogance is truly unbridled.”  He spat on the ground.  Xaro just waited, patient.  The ogre was still screaming.

“Still, you have some talent.  Decent with a sword.  Strong enough
in hand-to-hand, I’ve seen that in your training against the other fighters.  But you haven’t yet shown me enough on horseback, and I’ve not seen you throw a spear worth a crap.  To be a Warrior, I need to see more than a brute with a sword.  You must show skill with multiple weapons, multiple tactics.  You’re not ready.”

Xaro was growing tired of this training, day after day.  He had spent two years in the fighting pits, and had defeated every combatant that had been thrown against him, including the ogre, who was still howling in pain and cursing Xaro while
he listened to his Master-at-Arms.  Both sounds tested his patience.  “Very well.  You say I am arrogant—I do not deny it.  But I am also your best fighter—you cannot deny that.  So let me issue this challenge.  You say I lack skill on horseback and skill with a spear—fine.  Give me one spear and my choice of horse, and I will fight your griffin from the saddle with one spear only.  We shall fight in the main pit, though your griffin can fly wherever he likes, of course.  But you will see what I can do on horseback, and it gives you another chance to rid the world of a future ‘mercenary’, as you see it.  If I defeat your creature, you will allow me to take this “Warrior’s Test,” whatever it may hold.  I am ready and you know it.  If I lose, then we shall have nothing further to discuss, of course.  Do you accept my challenge…
Master?
” he added.

Bertram was seething.  All fighters came to his pits to train, full of vinegar and drunk on their own immortality.  He was used to arrogance; that was nothing new.  What bothered him was that Xaro
was
right. 
Nobody could match his skill.  He won everything.  Excelled at everything.  After arriving two years ago, it took him less than a month to begin swordplay against the best students…using his off-hand.  Bertram knew every warrior was not destined to be a noble Knight; he didn’t expect morality from men training in the art of war.  But what he did expect—what he demanded—was
respect. 
Respect for the Guild.  For the position.  For Bertram’s knowledge and title.  And he received that respect from all, sometimes from the start, sometimes after a humbling.  Xaro had never been humbled, though.  And he respected no one but himself, near as Bertram could tell.  Oh, he tolerated his fellow trainees.  They worshipped him like a God it seemed, the way he held court in the barracks and the drinking halls.  Always the center of attention.  Yet day after day he rose and proceeded to embarrass his fellow students, and still they gravitated toward him, breaking bread and sharing stories.

Xaro was a dangerous man, and it was increasingly obvious that he was developing a cult following.

The Master-At-Arms trusted him less than a thief in rags, and asked Thorax regularly to take this man from his midst.  He had hoped the ogre would be the answer to that prayer.  Bertram ground his teeth as his ogre howled in pain.

“I accept.  But I will choose your spear, and I will choose your horse.  Standard issue, both.  Survive, and I will do you one better than allow you to take your Test. 
This
shall be your Test.  Defeat the griffin, and I shall brand you a True Warrior myself.  The battle shall be held tomorrow.  Are we agreed?”  Bertram narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest.

Xaro smiled.  “Agreed.”

He flicked his wrist and a hidden dagger flew into the back of the ogre’s hand, which was holding a wicked, curved throwing blade he must have had stored inside his wide belt.   The ogre screamed as Xaro’s knife bit deep, and stared at the dark blood streaming from his hand.  The ogre dropped his throwing blade and looked up at Xaro, narrowing its red eyes and boring them into him.

“
You called for healers—where are they?” Xaro asked.  “Please silence your pet, or my next throw will silence him for you.”

~Magi~

“Look at the size of that place,” Kyle commented.  Having grown up in Fostler, another relatively small village like Brigg, both he and Magi were awed at the immensity of the buildings in the city of Gaust.

“Aye, someone important lives here.  Maybe Lord Corovant.”  Sindar, too, seemed impressed.  “He is the lord of this city.”

“FISH!  Buy two fresh!” a peddler shouted from the side of the street.  The whole place smelled of waste, fish, sweat, and salt.  “A copper apiece or two for three!” as he rubbed two notched, beat-up coppers together beside a row of hanging fish, still dripping.

“Good sir, where might we find the library in this great city?”  Magi asked.

“Library, eh?  What does a group such as you want with books?  Manny the fish merchant will give a fish away if the big one can even read.”  The merchant cackled with laughter that stopped as suddenly as he started.  “Manny thinks you’re not from around here, no —not from here at all.”

Sindar grabbed Magi’s robe and yanked him away from the merchant.  “Our business is our business.  Sorry to have troubled ye.”  He glared at Magi as they shuffled away down the street.  Behind them, the voice of the merchant was fading, “
Manny’s fish is best!  No trouble for the outsiders!”

A block later
, both Sindar and Lionel rounded on him.  “I thought Marik said you were one of his smart kids.  How dimwitted can you be?”  Lionel said.  “Act like you belong in the city, and let Sindar or I gather information.  Do you want every cutpurse in the city targeting us?  This isn’t Brigg, where a scandal to Phillip is a dispute over the price of horseshoes.  People
get killed
for horseshoes in the city.  We don’t need the attention.”

“I’m sorry.  It was just an innocent request for directions.” Magi was floored by
both the tongue-lashing and his naiveté.