In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (66 page)

He
came up beside Rebecca on her large horse, allowing some slack in the line for the pack pony to follow behind him.  There was something that still gnawed at him.  “Why did you insist on bringing me here?”  It was the first time he had asked her that question.

The Lady Ranger didn’t immediately answer.  She didn’t even look at him for a minute or so. 
Finally, she glanced at him and replied, “So I could keep my eye on you.”

The Elder raised an eyebrow.  “
You don’t trust me?”

Rebecca laughed
at this, making Kari look over her shoulder inquisitively.  “Should I?  When have you shown yourself to be nothing more than a schemer, always looking for a benefit for yourself?  I trust few men...and you barely qualify as that.”

“If given the chance, you would see what kind of man I am
,” he said, resisting the urge to reach across his horse and slap her, knowing the others would just gut him right there and lead the pack pony themselves.

“Ha!  Did you think to manipulate your way into my bed?  You are a foul, little man.  The schemer has been out-schemed. 
Still…you are of some use on our mission.  For your sake, I would keep a closer eye on our pack pony.  She is already wandering into the deep heather while you chatter away with me.”

Phillip bit his tongue
and gave the rope tethered to their supply pony a stiff jerk before he dropped back in line behind Rebecca, smoldering.

~Niku~

Niku and Strongiron huddled with the others that night around
the campfire.  After some wandering through the sea of grass, they had found an old dirt road, roughly heading north-south.  An old map that Niku had found before they left Rookwood held the promise of at least marking some sites.  Very little was known of this ring-shaped island.  Two cities were known to the travelers:  Ilbindale—which they were
not
going to visit—and Shu-Tybor.  That was their first goal.  If the map was to be believed, there was an old road leading from the coast down toward the inland city.

“What is this city like?” Rebecca asked, pulling a piece of roasted boar off her knife
, having felled one earlier with one shot from her great bow, to everyone’s delight.

Everyone turned toward Niku.  “Well, nobody knows for sure.  Remember, this land is hardly inhabited, and certainly not well mapped.”  He smiled as the juice from a perfect
ly-roasted piece of meat ran down his sticky fingers.  “Delicious.  A marvelous shot, Ranger.  But as I was saying, the details on Shu-Tybor are sparse.  That said, I found this in our Great Hall of Books.  The entry was ripped and incomplete, but some of the words can be made out:

—trees.  A silver river cascaded over the falls and pooled at the bottom of the grotto, undoubtedly on its way toward the Holy Water.  And in the distance rose the Tower at Dariez, where—

“What do you think that means?” Kari asked.  “Who wrote that?”  She looked at all of them in turn, but was speaking to Niku.

“Well, I did some further research.  I found one other reference for this Tower at Dariez.  It is the only writing I know that exists that was supposedly written by
the True Cleric Windomere.  It reads:

—I fear the Age of Wisdom draws to a close, my friend.  Dymetra is not pleased with us, and I fear she will let men rule themselves apart from her love, her care, her guidance.  The hubris!  Had we just listened, had we just been content.  Alas, Quixatalor, we were not patient, were we? The silver water shall flow, but the Tower shall empty.  For who shall come study the Truth at Dariez in a Godless world?  As Wisdom fades, Darkness must surely rise.  As our light draws to a close, I fear that Tenebrae shall become a Dark World indeed.

Windomere

Niku tore off another piece of roasted boar, this one a little charred from its closeness to the fire.  “A glass of wine now would top this off to perfection, but—to the letter.  Putting them together, I think we can conclude, at the very least, that the Tower of Dariez was a place of great respect amongst the ancient clerics.  If we are looking for remnants, runes, and knowledge of Dymetra, I think that would be a good place to start.  And it appears to be visible ‘in the distance’ from Shu-Tybor.”

Rebecca fidgeted
, then asked the obvious question.  “Then why are we headed to Shu-Tybor?”

“Because Dariez is not on any map I’ve seen,” replied Niku with a half-smile.

~Trevor~

Trevor sat in the back of the courthouse, well-disguised in case any crewman from
The Modest Mermaid
stumbled in and recognized him.

A
few days ago, he had been sitting in
The Lazy Pour
, waiting to see a familiar face, waiting for Marik to stop traipsing all over the continent on the wings of his Art, doing who knows what.  Just waiting.  And drinking.  And waiting…but mostly drinking.

He
couldn’t help but overhear all the buzz in the common room about a wanted mage being captured.  To hear the gossip, this magic user was a ‘big catch.’  Placed under continual paralysis to keep him from so much as whispering, he was going to be rushed to trial, given the toll it was taking on the mage-guards to keep him in check.  Trevor’s curiosity was piqued.  When he found out the mage’s name was ‘M’ something, he was really curious. 
Surely Marik wasn’t caught doing something foolish…Xaro might just let him rot.

When he saw that it wasn’t Marik, but
instead his former pupil from whom he’d nicked the ring months ago, he nearly fainted.  If he had not been in a crowded courtroom in the middle of a trial, he would have used the special word to tell Xaro to contact him as soon as possible.  But Trevor was in no place to receive a conjured image of his Master, and the courtroom was packed tighter than fish in a dragnet.  He couldn’t make a move if he wanted.

But
he could see…by standing on a bench.  And the first thing, perhaps the only thing, that Trevor wanted to see were Magi’s hands.  Much to his chagrin they were unadorned—the ring was still missing.  So he sat in the back and waited…this time without the benefit of any ale.  Which was a pity, because the spectacle was unlike anything he’d ever seen.  From an entertainment value, hearing all these people shout their charges, accusations, and grievances up at Magi was beyond fascinating.  The drama was thick—this man was surely going to be tortured or executed or both.  Trevor didn’t know whether that was good or bad for his Master.  He only knew Magi—and his ring—were of acute interest to Xaro. 
As soon as I get clear of court I’ve got to tell him what’s going on.

Soon his eyes began to wander across the crowd, looking for some easy, well-to-do victims that might provide enough coins for a bit of extra celebration after Lord Corovant pronounced his sentence
, whatever the verdict was. 
A dandy, that Lord Corovant.

It was then that the most intoxicating woman Trevor had ever laid eyes on stepped forward, and offered to speak on behalf of the captive.  Her eyes had a golden color to them, and her hair was the color of honey, like it was poured onto her shoulders.  Her face was timeless.  Trevor sensed everyone suck in their breath when she stood up and walked forward.  He leaned forward and listened.

“I will,” she repeated, standing next to Magi.

“And you are?” Lord Corovant did not stand, but finally took his eyes off Magi and turned his attention to th
e woman.

“I am known as the Ol’ Shakoor.  My name is Elsa, and some of your mage guards, if they studied in the North, may know me as a prophetess.”  She inclined her head slightly.  The mage guards did, in fact, recognize her, and many nodded in a clear sign of respect.

“Very well.  I will hear you, though I myself place little value in the shifting murals that you call prophecy.  How do you know this man?”  Lord Corovant gestured at Magi.

The Ol’ Shakoor smiled patiently.  She raised her voice and spoke to the entire Hall.  “Lord Corovant, I see you are direct.  Just so; you will find I am as well.  I know this man better than any other in this room today, having seen his future.  He came to me as all mages in this part of the world often do.  I see glimpses into their souls; I see the actions of the future, and while I don’t have the entire context, I can tell you
unequivocally that this man is innocent of much of what he has been charged.  Those crimes he has committed, I can tell you, were not fully his fault.  He has been cursed.”

The Hall erupted
in shouting. “
WITCH!
” “
CONJURER!
” “
ENCHANTRESS!
” “
LYING SORCERESS!
” “
TRUST THEM NOT!
” could be heard, among other things.  Even the mage-guards began to shift uncomfortably, some beginning to encircle Elsa after a look from Lord Corovant.

“SILEN
CE!” the Lord of Gaust roared as he stood.  “I will
not
have my Hall turned into the Town Square!”  He straightened his tunic, trying to look formidable.  “Elsa, your words are difficult for all of us here to believe.  But even if I were to believe you—so he is cursed.  Am I to let this man roam free killing people with a wave of his hand simply because of that?  Surely you don’t expect him to go free?”

The Ol’ Shakoor paused and looked around.  She
appeared to be taking in the faces of all the mage-guards that she probably had known in their youth.  She looked around the entire Hall, at the townspeople gathered with their angry, fearful faces scowling back at her.  She then focused her eyes on a disheveled sailor in the crowd, letting her gaze linger there briefly.  Clearly she was looking for someone or something.  Finally she stared at Lord Corovant—or rather behind him.  Behind the Judgment Throne upon which Lord Corovant sat was an enormous mirror and she was clearly looking at her reflection.

Silently, she appeared to be mouthing some words.
  Then she looked up at Lord Corovant, closed her eyes, and answered, “It is not for you to decide the fate of this one.”

“BLASPHEMY!” shouted someone in the crowd.  Lord Corovant pointed
at his mage guards to entrap her, and they unleashed their binding spells, meant to keep a True Mage from teleporting or casting any spells.

All their spells seemed to hit a wall around her, leaving her untouched.  She grabbed the pendant around her neck
with one hand and smiled sadly.  She opened her eyes—but appeared lost, staring aimlessly around the room, waving her free hand around frantically.

Closing her eyes again while spells rained
harmlessly down on her, she teleported away.

The room suddenly grew silent after the Ol’ Shakoor vanished.  The entire room was stunned; they had never seen a mage withstand the guards like that.  The crowds had pressed in and the
packed Hall was getting restless.  Knights and other guardsmen were ringing the room, swords drawn to keep a panic from ensuing.  Finally, Lord Corovant spoke.

“Magi Blacksmooth, I am not persuaded by the testimony of this so-called prophetess.  How dare she come here and question
my
authority?  You shall pay for your crimes here, in Gaust, and whatever remains may be taken to our lovely Queen for whatever else she may dream up.  Phineas, you asked for a speck of flesh, and you’ll get no more than that.  It is my judgment that this mage, still bound by our spells, has been found guilty of the crimes of which he has been accused, and therefore shall be burned alive.  Phineas, you shall have his ashes when the flames have run their course.  Mages—to the courtyard!”

The crowd in the courtroom began to cheer, and shouts of “Fire!” and “Burn him!” ringing throughout the Hall.  Trevor was being jostled, and while he did manage to easily pick a few pockets, he could no longer stay on the bench and he could certainly not fight his way out without stabbing people.  He was swept away in the flow of bodies as the doors opened and the mob spilled out into a courtyard.

Unsurprisingly, a single pole was already prepared for a burning, with a huge pile of oiled wood gathered around it.  Trevor couldn’t help but smile cynically to no one in particular. 
Nothing like a fair hearing.

The crowd began to fan out around the entire courtyard, covering all the exits with hundreds of bloodthirsty Gaustians looking forward to a public burning.  Trevor found himself pushed near the front, with layers and layers of people behind
and around him in every direction. 
At least I’ll be able to see it for myself and be the first to report it to Xaro.

The mage-guards levitated Magi’s stiff-as-a-board body a few inches off the ground and guided him to stand against the pole.  The mage-guards then released his arms as two of Lord Corovant’s knights climbed over the mound of oiled wood to reach Magi and secure his wrists to a pair of shackles fastened to the pole.

As the crowd finally centered on a single chant of “Death by Fire!” Lord Corovant held up his hands to the frenzied citizens.  An eerie hush settled over the scene.  The two knights each grabbed a torch, and were holding them mere inches from the wood, awaiting the command.