In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (24 page)

“What do you mean,
‘too heavy’?” Magi asked.

“I mean it is too heavy for me to lift.  As a prophetess, we ‘lift’ your future from the power within you.  All mages have a
certain depth to their power.  The deeper the well, the more innately powerful the mage.  The more of yourself you can pour into a single spell, or the more stamina you will have for more spell casting without rest.  Normally I can easily lift this energy and read the portion that pertains to your future, picking up images, feelings, and events.  But in your case—I could not.  It felt like I was trying to pull an anchor up from the depths of the Whirlpool.  It was all I could do to resist your sleep spell, and I have the benefit of charms to make it nearly impossible for me to succumb to magic.”  She fingered her necklace without thinking.  “Yet succumb I nearly did anyhow.”

Magi’s mind was racing, and he asked the obvious question.  “What does that mean for my prophe
cy?”

“It means I cannot read it.  It humbles me greatly to admit that you are beyond my abilities to read
—no other mage has ever been too heavy.  You must go to the Elven prophet Pilanthas the Old, in Shith, on the outskirts of the great forest, Filestalas.  Pilanthas is the oldest, and strongest amongst our order—he will lift your prophecy.  Your fate can be read by him or no one.”

Magi looked at Elsa, the Ol’ Shakoor.  She was drained and looked to have aged in front of his eyes.  A wisp of smoke curl
ed up from the black pearl about her neck.  “Is there nothing you can share with me, Lady Elsa?”

She wearily raised her head to look Magi in the eyes.  “No.  Alas, I cannot.  Seek Pilanthas
for the answers you pursue.  Now I must rest.”

Magi thanked her, and turned to leave.  He never saw Elsa look up at him one last time, shudder, and collapse into deep sleep.  From the strength of h
is spell or the exhaustion of her efforts, who could tell?

~Magi~

It
was a strange thing, seeing the look of surprise on the face of a True Mage.  Magi was spinning his ring when he reflected on Master Marik’s facial expression. 
Everything looks creepier without proper eyes.  Is this my destiny?

Marik quickly regained his nondescript countenance and set his jaw.  “Very well.  We shall head back to Brigg, restock our supplies, and
acquire mounts to travel overland to Shith.  It is no small journey.  I will need to make arrangements for the school.”

Magi looked at his Master.  “You think we should still go?  You can’t leave the school for that long, can you?”

“If the Ol’ Shakoor says to see Pilanthas, we shall go visit the ancient Elf.  Given the unusual nature of your prophecy, I think it is important that I accompany you.  Though I will ask one of our Rangers to accompany us.  The terrain south of the Three Fingers is not well known to me, and the forests around Fostler, and especially Briz, can be treacherous.”

“May I come too, Master?”  Kyle asked in a soft voice.  “I have an interest in Magi’s prophe
cy, too.”

Magi looked at Kyle.  His friend seemed much more serious than normal.  “I would love to have Kyle join us, Master.”

Marik considered.  “Very well.  But we shall not dawdle in Brigg long.  Be prepared to leave the next morning upon our return.”

With that, the three of them retraced their journey back to the village.  There was an unmistakable sense of urgency that hovered over them as they walked.

“It appears we have another adventure on our hands, Kyle.”  Magi had fallen into step next to him as they walked briskly behind Marik.

“Yes.  It does,” he said with uncharacteristic seriousness. 
I wonder what he saw in there?

~Xaro~

Perspiring slightly, Xaro had arranged for a pitcher of cool water flavored by the juice of imported Mikenese melons to be brought in when he clapped his hands.  The days were always hot in
Sands End
,
and Xaro had been outside supervising the drills for some of the men left behind by his General.  He returned to his private quarters for an important appointment—another one halfway around the world that required his spellcasting.

As the black dust settled into the outline of the Head of the Assassin’s Guild, Xaro plopped down into a seat opposite the shimmering image of Silverfist.  He called for his water to brought, and grabbed a nearby towel to blot his forehead.

Silverfist, too, was seated, and looked to be in a far more comfortable climate.  Wearing a light brown shirt paired with fine blue trousers, his legs were crossed as he sipped light-colored wine with small pieces of fruit floating in the bottom of his rather large glass.

“Xaro, your spellcasting is punctual as ever.  You look warm.”  Silverfist began informally.

“Yes, all afternoon in the sun will do that.  You look as comfortable as ever.  Clearly business is good.”  Xaro poured himself a glass and took a nice, long gulp, putting aside any pretentiousness whatsoever. 
The melons don’t taste quite ripe.

Silverfist laughed lightly.  “My guild’s business always does well, Xaro.  There is never a time when our business suffers.”  He had a long toothpick in one hand that he slowly inserted into one of the pieces of fruit in his wine glass, pulling it out to eat delicately.

“So it would seem.  And perhaps your business will improve even moreso based on our discussion.  As we have briefly discussed in the past…I am in need of an assassin.  Your best—top of the Guild.”  Xaro set his glass down and looked into the eyes of the image he had conjured.  “You said you had someone in mind.”

Perhaps it was simply due to the shimmering nature of the image, but Xaro thought there was a gleam in Silverfist’s eye.  “Well, the top spot in our Guild can be a fleeting position.  One is only as good as your last kill, to some extent.  But if you want my advice, I would recommend a young Master Assassin who has demonstrated a natural talent that belies her relative youth.  She is whom I had in mind.  I tell you—she is special, Xaro.”

Xaro had known Silverfist for years.  Though he never had need for an assassin until recently, he had heard the man speak fondly of the Guild, but never of individual assassins.  At one point, he recalled him going so far as to say that they were ‘interchangeable.’

“Very well; tell me old friend, what makes this young assassin so special?  I am not looking for your newest Master; I am looking for your best.  You yourself have told me that the strength of the Black Guild is the consistency among your members, so strong is your training.  Yet you would have me trust in a young female.  Share with me your logic.”  He leaned back, grabbed his somewhat bitter drink, and listened.

“I will tell you.  She has already more than thirty kills, and has been training for six years.  Her technique is flawless because her gifts are so natural.  I have been training Assassins for forty years, Xaro, and very few Masters pass the Moral Test, Technique Test, and Selectivity Test flawlessly.  The Masters who do pass often fail one or more Tests, and reattempt later, ultimately passing.  Not her.  She is in the peak of her physical fitness, a combination of strength, agility, and guile that no man can match.  She has shown the ability to both plan meticulously and adapt cleverly when circumstances change.  Most recently, she killed the bodyguards of a pair of mages travelling to Gaust, eliminating a skilled Ranger and a skilled Warrior, both of whom were in the presence of others at the time.  She is like a gho—”

“What did you just say?” Xaro interrupted.

Silverfist cocked his head and his image leaned forward.  “I said she killed in the presence of others.  She’s like a ghost, Xaro.”

“No, who did she kill?  A Ranger and Warrior travelling to Gaust?”  Xaro put his drink down and stood up suddenly, approaching the image.  “Who-did-she-kill?” he repeated forcefully.

“Well, I don’t know their names.  Our agents simply verified that the assignment was properly executed, which it was.  The test was to kill the bodyguards and leave the lads untouched.  I mean, killing the boys would hardly have been a test for a Master Assassin?  Now, an established Ranger and a True Warrior, both in public…that is something entirely different.  And as I said, both were flawless.  She killed the Ranger
in a Library
, Xaro, and the man never made a sound until his body thumped to the ground.  She was back outside the building before those silly boys knew that one of their protectors had been slain.  And the Warrior was felled by poison that she herself brewed.  The man fell face down into his stew while she lazily drank a glass of wine, departing casually when people began making an uproar.  But why do you care?  We devised the test based on information we had gathered.  Were either the Ranger or Warrior friends of yours?  If so, I am sorry but we do live in a Dark World, Xaro.  You know this better than most.”

Silverfist ran a hand through his nearly all-black hair, just beginning to become streaked with grey.

Xaro just stood there and said nothing. 
If you knew how close you came to destroying my plans…plans more than 18 years in the making…may Kuth-Cergor have mercy on your bones, because that is all that would have been left.
  He took a deep breath and sighed before walking back to his chair.  “It is nothing.  I have a fondness for cultivating our Art.  I am glad your Assassin wasn’t tasked with killing the young mages, that is all.

“So this Assassin—I would speak with her.  If I like her, then I will hire her from you.  What is her name and what is your price?”

Silverfist just smiled.  “Veronica is her name, and she doesn’t work for me, Xaro.  Every Master Assassin works for themself.  I may help procure some contracts, but every Assassin negotiates their own rates.  They pay the Guild 10% on every successful contract.”

“If I like her, the only contract she’ll have is with me.  If you are sure she’ll pay you, fine.   That makes no difference to me and is between you and her.  But she will only be killing for me.”

Silverfist shook his head.  “That isn’t how it works in the Black Guild, Xaro.  Unlike our brethren in the Thief’s Guild who view it as good sport to cheat the Guild their due, that doesn’t happen in the Black Guild.  We
always
get our cut.  Always.  And something else you should know about Assassins, Xaro.”  He swirled the remaining wine in his ostentatious glass before draining it, fruit and all.  “They are loyal to their contract.  You will find Veronica will kill exclusively for you as long as you have two things:  enemies and gold.  The minute you run out of either is the minute that she will be working on other contracts.  It is the nature of our work, Xaro.”

“First things first.  I want to speak with this Veronica myself.”

~Magi~

As he packed for the long trip to Shith, Magi recalled this modest deception of his Master with a sly grin, wondering if this is the kind of thing the Ol’ Shakoor would have seen if she could have lifted his prophecy. 
Probably not—prophets are focused on the future, not the past, right?

A knock on the door brought him out of his reverie.  “Come in,” he
said as he continued slotting items and spell components based on necessity.  He knew without looking up that Kyle’s sister had just entered.  A fragrant smell of lavender and vanilla seemed to fill the room.

“Hello, Magi.  Were you going to say goodbye?” 
He finally looked up at Kari. 
Lovely.  How does she get her hair to smell like that?

“Hi Kari.  I was hoping I’d get a chance to see you.  Come sit down.”
  She walked through the doorway and sat down on the couch, where Magi joined her.  She put her hand on Magi’s.

Kari looked at him
with those brilliant green eyes of hers. “I was hoping to see you too.  I’m a little worried.  This is a long trip.”  Then:  “I’d like to join you.”

“That would be fantastic, Kari.  But you know Marik would never allow it.”

“I do know that, because I’ve already asked.  What I don’t know is why is he allowing my brother to tag along?  And to leave in such a hurry…”

“Kyle has convinced him that his prophecy has something to do with my prophecy—or at least the finding out of my prophecy.  That’s why he’s coming.”

“Or he’s coming because he’s your best friend.  How does Marik know whether my prophecy or Tarsh’s or Nugget’s or Skylar’s or even Ragor’s prophecy isn’t bound up in your destiny?  It’s not like Kyle can
tell
Marik his prophecy, is it?”  She stood up and threw her hands up in disgust.  “And why is
your
destiny so much more important than anyone else’s—he doesn’t personally lead expeditions to the Ol’ Shakoor every month, now does he?  But now he can leave the school to guide you two for what—months?”  She wasn’t raising her voice, but then she never needed too, either.

Magi knew that tone in her voice.  “What do you want me to do, Kari?  Tell Kyle he has to stay?  Tell Marik I’m not interested in going if you don’t join us?” 
Probably the wrong thing to say. 
He quickly softened his tone.  “Why do you really want to come with us, Kari?  Your own prophecy is due to be read in a month.”