In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (8 page)

Lionel extended his hand.  “Keeper, it is an honor.  We seek a scroll, and have been told that it is in your possession here.  It is the Scroll of Tralatus.”

“I see.  May I ask who sent you, or what you wish with the scroll?”  The large man leaned forward, as if looking to hear something.  For a moment, the only sound in the room was the flickering hiss of the torches.

Magi spoke up this time.  “We seek only to
duplicate it.  My Master, the True Mage Marik, asked us to retrieve a copy of it.”

Lionel flashed Magi a look that screamed,
I do the talking, remember?

“
Ah.  Good.  Marik said he would send someone to copy it for his study.  I had to be sure.  Come—follow me.”  He led them to a large table between two aisles laden with books, scrolls, chests, pouches, statues, and pictures of various shapes and sizes.  On one of the upper shelves was a large, plain wooden box, covered in more strange runes.  The Keeper placed his hand on the box and whispered something that caused the box to glow ever so slightly.  He took the box down and placed it on the table.  He gestured to the two mages to take a seat at the table and handed them several sheets of parchment and quills.  Lionel stood by, watching.

“Here, in the box.  You may open
it now for 10 gold pieces.  Inside you will find the Scroll of Tralatus.  It may not leave this room.”

Lionel was shocked as he stared at the Keeper of the Books.  “Ten pieces of gold?  Surely you jest?  The four of us could stay in this city for a month for less than that!
  You seek to take advantage of Marik.”

“I see.
  I will be more than happy to send word on ahead of your journey home that his emissaries chose,
in their own wisdom,
to return empty-handed rather than pay my price.”  The Keeper began to put the box back on the shelf as the glow of the runes began to fade.

“Wait!  Here.” Lionel reluctantly counted out 10 precious gold pieces and
set them on the table.  “You’re worse than the damn fish peddlers.”

The fat man smiled as the gold disappeared into one of the pockets in his
voluminous robe.  “Thank you.  I will leave you to your work.”  He opened the box without so much as a glance inside and left through the door in the front of the large room.

Lionel looked in the plain box and saw a large piece of parchment, old but in excellent condition, as if it had
rarely been unrolled.  He turned to Magi and Kyle. “My friends, this is your area.  Can you take it out and read it?”

Magi reached into the box and lifted the scroll out, spreading it out
across the table.  Kyle looked over his shoulder, with Lionel right behind.  Nothing on the scroll made sense—it was in a language that Magi couldn’t even begin to pronounce.  Not that he would, even if he could.  Unlike spellbooks, a Scroll has magic bound up into it, and can only be used once.  Magi sighed.  “I sure would like to, Lionel, but this is the strangest writing I’ve ever seen.”  He dipped his quill into a small jar of ink.  Ten minutes passed in relative silence.

“How long will it take you to copy this?” asked Lionel impatiently.
  Magi looked over at Kyle, who shrugged unhelpfully.  Magi put his face down close to the scroll, pouring over the intricate details of the writing and knew it would be a painstaking effort.  Maybe a few hours, perhaps even the rest of the night, and unfortunately it wasn’t something you could divide and conquer.  Magi would have to recreate the whole thing from scratch himself.

“Hard to say, Lionel.  I would guess several hours, at least. 
Sound about right, Kyle?”  Magi asked.

T
urning to see what Kyle thought, Magi saw the thin blade of an Assassin drawn quickly across Lionel’s throat from the shadows behind him.  His vocal cords were cut before he could scream as blood splattered onto Magi’s copy in progress.  Lionel’s body fell to the floor, and by the time Magi and Kyle found their voice, their friend the Ranger was dead and the Assassin was gone.

~Trevor~

Looking down at the forest floor, Trevor tried for a few hours of Thief’s Sleep.  He struggled to shut down his mind tonight, still recalling the events of the last month or so…

The knight was dead at his feet, glued to cave floor, a hole in the base of his skull.  It wasn’t that Trevor detested or abhorred killing people; he didn’t, especially when it was them or him.  He just preferred to avoid it—less risky. 
Couldn’t be helped in this case.
  Quickly cleaning his blade, he hid to see if the other knight would come investigate.

He did not.  Trevor peeked around the curve in the natural cave path leading to the bridge, and saw the knight standing there, attentive as ever.  He must have heard that his relief was not coming, however.

Knights.  Duty and honor in this God-forsaken, Dark, Dark World.  Hmph. 
No matter.  Trevor immediately proceeded to phase two of this plan.  Climbing silently to a spot about ten yards of the cavern floor, still somewhat hidden from the knight, he found another stone outcropping that gave him a small ledge upon which he could kneel.  Carefully taking out his blow darts, Trevor took aim in the flickering light.  He knew he had only one shot.

Taking a deep breath, and with the precision even his brethren in the Black Guild could appreciate, he fired his dart…straight into the water skin of the knight.  The puncture was significant.  When the knight looked up and saw Trevor, it took a moment to realize what was happening.  Picking up the skin, he instinctively tore out the dart, and water began flowing freely out.  He sought to drink as much as he could, but soon it was empty.

“Filthy Thief!  You think your toy darts will hurt me?  Come fight me like a man!”  The knight slashed the air in frustration.

Trevor said nothing.  He retreated back around the bend slightly, and tipped a few drops of poison into his spare waterskin.  He knew the knight was sweating inside that mail, and would grow parched within a day if no relief came.  Figuring it was just the two of them splitting shifts, heading back up top for water, food, and proper sleep before returning for their shift guarding the bridge, Trevor himself just waited.

And waited.

After what must have been a day or longer, he was convinced there was no relief coming for this knight, who would be very thirsty indeed. 
I wonder if these fools know that it was my own Guild that hired them in the first place?  Doubt it.  One of the Masters must have posed as some honorable nobleman looking for a pair of knights to safeguard some gold that he kept safe.  They probably have no idea they’re part of my Test.

Trevor stepped out of the shadows and allowed himself to peek around the bend again.  The knight was slumped over, leaning on his sword.  The fire by his side was low.  Trevor approached cautiously.  Still thirty feet away, he tossed his
extra waterskin at the knight.  “For you.  I know you’re thirsty.”  Trevor began backing away, keeping his eye on the knight, who might reach for a throwing dagger or something.

The knight just weakly raised his visor and looked at Trevor.  “This water is poisoned.”

“It is.”  Trevor had no reason to lie.  “But it will quench your thirst.” “Or you could just leave and let me cross.”

The knight spit at the ground, but he was so parched that nothing came out, and coughed instead.  “We both know I won’t be doing that.”

“I figured as much.  I have plenty of water still, and can wait you out.  There is no second watch coming.  You know that.”

“Aye.  You filthy little thief, you killed a good man.  Were you to come closer, we’d settle this as real men ought.”  The knight stood up straight and lifted his sword, with some effort.  Lack of water and sleep, burdened by his incredibly heavy armor—the knight’s strength was declining.

“You fool.  You have no idea who you’re working for.  ‘
As real men ought.’ 
Your insufferable honor is laughable in the employ of the Thief’s Guild.  This is all a game to them—a Test for me.  But sit there and die at your post in whatever way best suits you.  I will surely outlast you.”  Trevor continued to back up, and was nearing the safety point of the bend in the path, out of direct range for any object he might throw.  Pausing, he added, “My gift to you is the waterskin.  It is painless.  You will die with your honor intact, and not from thirst, for whatever that is worth to you.”

The knight picked up the waterskin and went to throw it into the yawning chasm behind him.  But he didn’t.  He snarled and swallowed hard, his throat scratchy, dry, and raw.  “DAMN YOU THIEF!”  The knight tore open the waterskin and drank lustily.

Trevor didn’t say a word, he just watched from the shadows, almost pitying the poor knight who chose duty over life. 
The fool could have just walked out of here.
  A curious choice in this Dark World.  The dutiful knight keeled over dead as he emptied the last of the waterskin.

***

Finally, his head done dragging up recent memories for the moment, Trevor Blink dozed lightly, Thief’s Sleep taking him at last.

~Trevor~

Another bird alighted on the branch to which Trevor had fastened himself, and immediately his eyes opened silently.  He was so still on the branch that the small bird didn’t even notice him until it turned its head and froze.  Trevor Blink just stared at the bird, which cocked its head, pooped, and flew off. 
I can see that my Thief’s Sleep is done for the night.  What was I thinking about last night again? 
He quietly rubbed the sand out of his mis-matched eyes and continued his recollection of the second Test…

***

The shiny armor glowed in the fading embers of the fallen knight’s small campfire. 
If I could drag that armor out of here, it would be worth more than the bag of gold. 
But Trevor put the thought quickly out of his mind.  One suit was stuck to the cave floor, and besides, the plate mail would be far too heavy.  He set his mind to the task at hand.

Stepping over the knight, he went to cross the wooden rope bridge, but paused.  He picked up a nearby large stone about the size of the knight’s head and rolled it onto the bridge.

It collapsed under even this moderate weight.

Peering down into the chasm, it took several long seconds before the wood hit bottom. 
Too far to climb down and back up.
  There was no other crossing; the path through the cave led to this large cavern, and the back of the cavern was this massive crevasse, more than twenty-five feet across. 
Too far to jump.
  It was clear that the ledge on the other side, with the door, was the only path forward.

Fortunately the cavern was fairly well lit with torches on the walls.  Looking around at the flickering shadows, it looked like there was a spot along the roof of the cavern where a couple of clustered stalactites had fused together, creating something of a hanging “loop” from the ceiling.  He climbed along the edge of one of the walls to try and get a closer look.

From his perch, near the edge of the chasm, the stalactite “loop” was ten or fifteen feet away. 
Too far to jump…but perhaps not too far of a throw. 
Trevor fastened a small stone around the end of his rope using some sticky draught.  It took a couple throws, but with the weight on the end of the rope, he was able to pitch the stone and thus the rope through the loop.  Fashioning a hook out of his remaining stiff wire, he fished the other end of the rope with the stone on it back to him.  He gave it a good yank.  It seemed to hold.

Taking a deep breath, Trevor wrapped his hands around the rope and pushed off, swinging across the gap.  With a light jump, he landed on the other side.  He tied the ropes off to secure them for a return swing.

Stepping up to the door, he saw two locks.  Trevor stepped up to examine them closely.  Both keyholes were identical, one atop the other.  Trevor looked around the ledge.  Of course there were no keys in sight.

One could be a trap.  Both could be a trap.  Or neither could be a trap, but rather both part of a locking mechanism. 
Picking locks was probably the aspect of thievery in which Trevor most excelled.  He always earned top spot while studying all forms of exotic locks and traps.  He had spent some time devising a lock of his own—one that he felt was “unpickable,” even by a thief as skilled as him.  The lock of his own making had been the only one he felt could befuddle him.

But there was no telling how long Trevor had.  The Test to become a Master Thief was perilous
—deadly.  He could have lost his life a dozen different ways by now.  The idea that there was some type of timer on this door was certainly possible.  The Guild Masters had no problem killing would-be Master Thieves; they had a big problem promoting someone unworthy of the distinction.

Taking out his lockpicking tools, he began gently probing the top one, just trying to see if he could place it.  He was careful not to probe too far or trigger anything.  After a minute or two, he felt reasonably certain this was a seven-pin lock.  He’d heard of them, but hadn’t seen one.  He changed tools and began seeing if he could discern the pattern so the pins lined up inside.  Leaning close, he heard the slight clicking that let him know he was getting them aligned.  After the sixth pin he stopped.