In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) (10 page)

He seemed to recall that the great city of Thalanthalas was impossible to find unless you knew how to get there.  He’d figured it would be well-guarded, and pointless to try and attack individually. 
And was I ever right.
  This crazy path they were following would never have been followed by a non-Elf.  He could only imagine what type of traps he would have inadvertently triggered set by Elven Druids to protect their city.  Trevor had no doubt that Cherokum was either avoiding or disarming traps as he went.

Still further down the ground sloped, until they heard the sound of running water.  Crashing through branches that snapped, scratched, and whipped Trevor at every turn, they finally came to a shallow riverbed with something a little stronger than a creek flowing through it.  Having emerged from the canopy of trees, the air smelled fresh and clear, with a strong scent of Hawthorne.  Small fish darted through the crystal-clear water that ran about four feet deep.  Brightly colored pebbles glimmered along the
creek bed—unusual pebbles that sparkled royal blue, deep purple, bright green, and honey-gold.  They looked like gemstones.

The water flowed slowly down in this valley, and the Elves all bent down and drank deeply, wading in past their waists.  “Come, Trevor!  Refresh yourself.  Fresher water does not exist anywhere in Tenebrae, I daresay.”  Cherokum plunged his entire head under before springing back up, flinging droplets off his thick, long, black hair.  The other warriors laughed and followed suit.

I won’t be washing off my disguise, thank you very much.  Who knows what other properties this water has? 
Trevor had seen enough to know that the renowned Druidic skill of the Elves was not exaggerated. 
Might it negate the magic in my shoes? 
He chose caution.

“Ah, thank you!  I will content myself to sip the water from here.  I’m not real keen on jumping into the stream, if it’s all the same.”  He laughed good-naturedly, hoping his answer wouldn’t offend them.  He was wrong.

“We insist.”

Looking over his shoulder back up the bank, he saw additional Elves in the trees around them.  He was clearly being funneled into this river.  The idea of becoming a Master Thief suddenly seemed much less appealing.

Nothing left for it.
  “Well, ah, ok then.  Into the water I go.”  He stepped into the water, which appeared to come just above his waist, but in reality was nearly midway up his chest given the illusion of height cast from his magical shoes.

He looked around, finding the Elves were encircling him in the water.  The strange markings on their arms began to glow, and the pebbles upon which they all stood seemed to also shine and blur.  The riverbed began to stir.

“Take a deep breath.”  Cherokum said, as he and the others began a modest chant, repeating a simple phrase over and over.

Confused and nervous, Trevor nevertheless obeyed.  He took a massive gulp of air…and was sucked beneath the surface through a sinkhole that had opened up in the riverbed.

A second or two later, Trevor could stand back up.  He opened his eyes to the most breathtaking castle he had ever seen in his life.  Immediately, he hoped his hair was still dark, his teeth yellow, his eyes haggard, his face scarred, and his height intact.  He could not take out a piece of polished glass.  But he could look at his reflection in the water, wrenching his eyes from the magnificent structure that arose out of nowhere.

As the ripples faded, he made out the image of a tired-looking man
with dark hair
…

“Welcome to Thalanthalas, friend!”  said Cherokum, slapping him on the back.

~Xaro~

Xaro stared at the raw brand on his upper left arm.  He could have eased his pain with a simple spell, but he wouldn’t even think of it.  He would let the flesh cool and scar over like every other True Warrior.  He was fully True Mage, and fully True Warrior, and prided himself on the fact that his fighting skills hadn’t aided his climbing of the Staircase, nor had his magic aided in his Test in the fighting pits of Kekero.  He allowed a private smile to leak across his face briefly as he studied the fabled brand.

A large oval, several inches in diameter, with three vertical lines inside basically constituted the brand.  The puffing of the skin made it different than a tattoo; the details in the lines could be hard to make out from a distance.  But it didn’t matter; everyone in Tenebrae knew the symbol of a True Warrior.  The oval represented a shield.  The three parallel, vertical lines, stacked shortest to longest, represented a dagger, a sword, and a spear.  The meaning was obvious: 
as a True Warrior, I can fight you with anything
.

Lord Kensington had branded Xaro a week ago in front of the cheering crowd of two thousand men.  That was the next step in his plan, and it
was a crucial one.  He had needed a decisive showing in the pits if he was to lead these men.  His goals were much larger than simply attaining status. 
Much larger.

Kuth-Cergor had returned.  One of the ancient gods, a god with real power—not the man-made infatuations men worshipped today—had chosen Xaro.  Spoken to him.  Taught him how to conceal his magic.  Answered prayers.  No god answered prayers any more…they simply existed as figments of man’s anxiety in this Dark World.  But Kuth-Cergor had existed long before man, and would exist long afterward. 
How fortunate am I to be singled out by a True god of the ancient world, that I should be alive during the age of Kuth-Cergor’s triumphant re-entry—and what’s more, that he should select me to rule at his side?

His instructions were simple…but not easy.  Raising an army takes time.  He couldn’t think of a better starting point than these fine men training in the pits.  With more than two thousand swords, they would make excellent captains and lieutenants.  Even better trainers and men-at-arms.  The foot soldiers would require far greater numbers, but Kuth-Cergor had some ideas for him there as well.

It would not do to invoke the name of the demon-lord quite yet…too many still doubted that he even existed.  And those that allowed for his existence were too ignorant to know his power.  His name was not a motivating factor for the masses…yet.

Kuth-Cergor knew this; that is why he had selected Xaro to be his leader here on Tenebrae.  The men who sought the mark of a True Warrior were mostly interested in mercenary work anyhow.  Oh, he saw some nobility—he could almost
smell
the arrogance of some would-be knights.  There was, however, a fighter that easily distinguished himself from the others.  His name was Strongiron of the House Tuitio, and he was clearly one of the best Xaro had seen in the pits beside himself.  The men loved Strongiron; he knew how to treat those weaker than himself with a measure of respect.

The other fighter that had caught his attention was a half-ogre named Tar-Tan.  Both men were fighting for their mark this afternoon.  Tar-Tan was pitted against a Chimera, a rare creature with two heads – one a lion, the other a goat, with the creature’s tail actually uncoiling into that of a lengthy, venomous snake.   Strongiron was pitted against three men—the Steele brothers; Axel, Abel, and Arkin.  If they defeated Strongiron, each of them would be allowed to battle for their True Warrior Test as soon as they were physically ready.

It was therefore with acute interest that Xaro watched from a balcony, next to Lord Kensington, as the top two warriors—besides Xaro, of course—were to fight for their brands.  Tar-Tan was up first.

Even though Strongiron was enormous for a man, a full six-foot six inches tall—he was still two feet shorter than Tar-Tan.  The half ogre was simply immense, and wielded a specially made halberd, heavier than most.  For a man, a normal halberd operated like a long spear with an axe blade at one end; in other words, a two-handed weapon.  This heavy halberd was wielded in one hand by the half-ogre, and his free hand typically held either a shield or, more commonly, a two-handed sword.  With a sword for in-close fighting and his halberd for distance, he shattered the dreams of many would-be True Warriors during his training.  His opponents couldn’t get near him.

And if one did manage to get near enough to Tar-Tan to strike a blow, he had dark, thick, rough skin that had a slight greenish tint, though it could hardly be seen, given the tattoos covering nearly his entire body.  His half-ogre hide was better than most chain mail; it would take a point-blank shot from a longbow to penetrate it.  He had excellent night vision, courtesy of his beady yellow eyes.  His least attractive feature was the stringy grey hair he’d inherited from his ogre father; so he shaved his head clean.

It was Tar-Tan’s intelligence and aptitude for military strategy,
however, which made him truly formidable.  Xaro had watched the half-ogre during their lessons on battlefield tactics, and was impressed.  This was not a slow-witted fighter who simply overpowered smaller men.  He could lead an army.

And yet…if the half-ogre and Strongiron were ever to meet on the field of battle, Xaro’s gold would have been on Strongiron.  He had heart…and warrior genes.  If he lived through this final Test, he would be an invaluable ally.  All three Steele brothers were very adept with swords, tridents,
and spears.  They had been fighting as a unit for years, and were a deadly trio in combat.  The Chimera was fascinating, but frankly was an unintelligent beast.  That foe was tailor-made for Tar-Tan to shine against.  “I would rather face the cursed lion than deal with all three Steele brothers at once,” remarked Xaro to Lord Kensington.

“Hmmm.  Perhaps.”  The Lord just smiled, absently rubbing his hands together greedily. 
The fool profits from the gambling spawned of his pits.  He will not profit forever.

Xaro would soon be identifying his lieutenants, and he wanted at least one of them to be a True Warrior.  That would be his General in the days to come.  Not only was Strongiron worthy, and not only did he have the admiration of the other fighters, but there were plenty of other reason
s Xaro wanted him the most.  Not the least of which was this:  he was a royal subject in King Alomar’s and Queen Najalas’s court.  Coming from a lineage of knights, Xaro reckoned it was only a matter of time and a few successful exploits before the King knighted Strongiron as well
.
  By gaining Strongiron’s allegiance, Xaro would weaken the very kingdom he meant to attack in Kuth-Cergor’s name.

Of course, Tar-Tan could be an effective general as well. 
But men will follow the half-ogre out of fear; they follow Strongiron as they follow me—out of admiration.
 
Together, with an ancient god blessing our efforts and cursing our enemies, with the King and Queen weakened, and with the status and gold of House Tuitio behind our efforts—it would be an epic conquest and coronation.
  Xaro had made up his mind: 
if he lives, Strongiron is my first choice. 
He could not help but smile at the idea of using a would-be Knight to bring down the godless aristocracy and their arrogant, hypocritical knights.

Lord Kensington stood up, made a few remarks, and the large battle horn was blown to start the fight between Tar-Tan and the Chimera.  The Chimera was chained to large iron rings fastened to the ground, one for each paw.  The clasps were opened at the sound of the horn, and the goat head bleated
while the lion snarled.  The beast approached the half-ogre cautiously; it did not charge right at him.

“Har!  Let us see what your hide is made of!”  Tar-Tan shouted at the Chimera, slashing his wicked halberd in front of the lion’s head.  It wasn’t a hard swing, just a swipe to gauge distance.  The Chimera was out of range by inches, and counted on an off-balance foe.  It swung a massive claw behind the half-ogre’s attack, hoping to push Tar-Tan to the ground.

The half-ogre was exceptionally quick for someone his size, and his technique was nearly flawless.  Weight evenly distributed, he brought his sword across his body to deflect the claw coming his way.  The steel bit into the foreleg of the Chimera, and it roared.  Blood spurted out, and the wounded animal retreated.

“Come.  Don’t back-up now, we’re just getting started!”  Tar-Tan taunted, but he did not for one second raise his hands outside the fighting position.  His two weapons were at the ready, and he took a step forward.

The snakehead hissed as the long tail flashed, wisely striking low, outside the easily defendable areas around the half-ogre’s torso.  The snake darted in and sunk its fangs into Tar-Tan’s calf. The half-ogre laughed and swiped the entire tail off with one clean stroke of his sword, making the Chimera bellow with pain again as he left its head dangling from his leg.

“You miserable creature!  Do you think your tiny fangs can even penetrate my hide?”  Tar-Tan did not bend down to remove the twitching tail.  Without taking his eyes off the Chimera, he carefully ran his sword across his calf, prying it off and flinging the tail back at the beast in the same, fluid motion.

Xaro leaned over to Lord Kensington. “I do hope you have a special branding iron for half-ogres.”

Lord Kensington flashed Xaro a haughty half-smile, his eyes never leaving the arena.  “I’ve found you just hold the
hot iron in place a little longer.  I doubt highly the pain will bother him.”

The rest of the fight ended quickly.  Tar-Tan began pressing forward, always to the left of the Chimera—the side with the hurt foreleg.  Stabbing with his halberd, the beast couldn’t move quickly away from the attack.  And moving to the right just put it within range of the sword.  Eventually he pierced the shoulder, then the goat head, then the other foreleg.  Carefully, with precision and patience, the half-ogre dissected the Chimera.  Finally, exhausted and enraged beyond reason, with blood spilling out of several terrible wounds, the beast launched itself at Tar-Tan.  Perhaps it had had enough and just wished to be impaled, for that’s exactly what happened.  The Chimera charged right into the spike of the heavy halberd.  Eight inches of metal drove into the exposed chest of the beast, with the full weight of the animal resting on the ax head at the end.  Dying, the Chimera bleated and roared and frantically pawed the air with its front legs, trying to reach the half-ogre’s face to scratch out his eyes.