Wizard of Wisdom: An Epic Fantasy Series (Wisdom Saga Book 1)

by W. C. Conner

  “I knew your master, Bork, many years ago,” he began. “I am truly sorry to hear of his death, for he was both a craftsman of profound ability and a man of true honor.”

  “He was all of that and more,” Kemp replied. “I loved him as I love my own father.”

  “You would likely find it of interest that both you and I are on the road because of Greyleige,” Morgan continued. Kemp shot a look of interest toward the warrior.

  “I was in service to the Duke of Confirth as a member of his personal guard. In that capacity I served both him and his father before him until I defied a direct order that I knew came not from the Duke, but from Greyleige, for the Duke is honorable at his heart. However, he is weak and does not have the strength of will that his father had to defy the wizards. Because of that weakness, he bent to Greyleige’s will and charged me to murder a certain person in such a way that no suspicion would be cast back upon Greyleige.

  “I am many things,” Morgan continued, “but I am no murderer. I have loved where I should not and I have brawled when walking away would have served better. I have killed more men than I care to admit in the service of the Duke and his father, and in the defense of the defenseless. I regret every life taken – even those who deserved the killing such as those who attacked us last night – but I have never committed cold blooded murder against an innocent such as the one I was ordered to perform and I never will.

  “Greyleige learned of my refusal and threatened the Duke who then turned me out, stripping me of all identity except my name, banishing me from the duchy upon certainty of death should I be found within its borders. Whether or not my banishment will blunt Greyleige’s anger, I don’t know. Even should the Duke be successful in finding another to perform this dishonorable act, I would warrant the wizard’s anger would still not be quenched.”

  Peg listened as Morgan talked. Yes, she knew he had led a violent life, but it had been an honorable one. And beyond all, he had treated her with respect – even love. When he had named her his daughter, although it was as a subterfuge, she had shivered to her heart at the honor. Now, it meant even more and she treasured her surrogate father all the more.

  Kemp had been quiet throughout, though the line of his mouth had grown tighter and tighter as the story unfolded. After Morgan finished and fell quiet, Kemp gave a great sigh. “The fates are indeed perverse that we should find one another upon this road,” he said, shifting to find a more comfortable seat upon the log.

  “It was as Tingle said,” he began. “I did, indeed, travel to Dunlivit to pick up a load of iron for Bork’s forge. But there was another reason for my trip as well.” He looked full into the eyes of first Morgan and then Peg as if measuring their mettle before continuing.

  “Bork and I are – or were – members of a group working to thwart Greyleige in his attempt to possess and control all magics in existence today. The true reason for the trip to Dunlivit was to pass a message of warning about the nature of Greyleige’s visit so that the leaders, whoever they are, might divine what his demands might herald.

  “The rest you already know,” he finished. “When I returned to find the smithy destroyed and Bork dead, I knew that I must leave Wrensfalls immediately. Whether I draw danger behind me I don’t know, but Tingle’s naming of Wisdom struck a note in my soul that said it is there I must go.”

  Morgan cast an appraising eye toward Kemp. “Tingle was certainly right when he said you were perfectly capable of speech when you had something worthwhile to say,” Morgan allowed. “It takes little skill to see that Greyleige is ambitious and ruthless. What I am pleasantly surprised to hear is that there exists some sort of organized resistance to him. I am even more surprised that I had not heard of this before as I had been privy to many discussions not open to most.”

  “Our group is yet very small, assuming it even exists at all anymore,” Kemp responded. “Bork had obtained certain information about the structure or composition of an object that might be invaluable to Greyleige in his pursuit of power. Where he acquired the knowledge and exactly what it was, I have no idea. Bork himself told me, for my own safety, that he did not want me to know. At the time the wizard came to Bork and demanded he aid him in his designs, he had not yet determined exactly how the knowledge he carried would help the wizard. It appears quite obvious that this object, whatever it is, is something that is made using a metal smith’s arts, and Bork was the finest metal smith in the principality.” There was a long moment of silence while Kemp looked at the ground beside his feet as if uncertain whether or how to continue.

  Morgan interrupted the silence. “Well, we certainly have given ourselves much to consider.” He stretched at that point and a concerned look crossed his face as he turned toward Kemp. “But for now we must look to our immediate concerns. I evaluated your wound as Peg was cleaning it, Kemp, and it’s clear to me that your injury is too severe for you to safely continue traveling for the next two or three days. You have suffered in noble silence, but despite a fine bit of stitching, the wound threatens to open. That would undo Tingle’s work and place your life at unnecessary risk. We must set camp here while we do what we can to prevent infection of the wound and to give you some time to heal.”

  Ignoring Kemp’s protest, Morgan began the process of creating a campsite under the sycamores and Peg moved to help him, leaving Kemp sulking on a great log.

  7

  The sun was well into the morning sky and Peg was sitting next to the smoldering remains of the previous night’s fire studying Kemp’s face when he awoke.

  “Morgan said to tell you he’ll be back soon. He’s only just gone to try to find some game and vegetables.”

  Kemp nodded, then looked toward the bushes. “Go ahead,” Peg said, blushing as she spoke, “I won’t look.”

  “I trust that you wouldn’t,” Kemp replied as he pushed to his feet, grunting slightly at the pain from the wound, “you’re too much of a lady to do that.”

  He started for the bushes just as she spoke once again. “I didn’t thank you for saving my life,” she said quietly, causing him to stop as he passed her. She looked up at him then blushed once again when she saw him dancing slightly as the need to relieve himself became urgent. “I’m sorry. Just go.” She giggled self-consciously as he made as dignified a dash for the cover of the trees as he could manage.

  “You’re certainly welcome,” he said upon his return as though there had been no interruption in their conversation, “I could do no other upon the circumstances.” He looked at her for several uncomfortable moments but could find nothing more to say, so sat down near to her and picked up a stick with which he poked at the embers to fill the silence.

  Peg, in turn, felt compelled to talk but also could find nothing to say so busied herself going through her bag, sorting her few possessions. As she pulled forth a silver hair brush, her expression clouded.

  Kemp caught the look. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

  “No,” she said absently, then looked up quickly. “I mean, I am well enough, but...”

  “Is it the hair brush?” he asked. “It is lovely. Where did you get such a fine item?”

  “It was my mother’s,” she replied, a faraway look in her eyes. “I never knew her, you know. She died giving me life.” Kemp could think of nothing to say, so he wisely said just that much. After a long moment, Peg continued. “It’s the only part of her I ever had.”

  She looked into Kemp’s eyes, not turning away this time as she always had before. “I had to hide it from my father ... and from that other man.”

  “You had to hide it from Morgan?”

  She blushed almost scarlet as she recognized her blunder. “I didn’t mean to say that, but I’m glad that I did.” Though flustered, she realized she very much wanted to trust him with the truth. “No, not from Morgan. My real father was a drunk. Though I find it difficult to live with, I tell you this because it was his shame, not mine. Morgan named me his daughter to you and Tingle to preserve my honor. In
truth, I feel much more his daughter than ever I did the man who begot me.”

  Unobserved by Kemp and Peg, Morgan had returned with a rabbit hanging from his belt and several wild turnips in his pouch. He had listened as Peg talked to Kemp, both of whom turned at his voice behind them. “You honor me, Peg, for I have felt much the same since I released you from your bondage.”

  She smiled fondly up at him before continuing. “My father did not treat me poorly nor beat me, though he did work me as a personal servant from my earliest memories of him on. However, as with so many, my father was not only a drunkard – he was a gambler. He could not turn away from any game of chance.”

  Peg pushed on relentlessly with the story though she could no longer bring herself to meet Kemp’s eyes as she spoke, only occasionally flicking a quick glance toward him as she came to brief stopping points. “He took me with him wherever he went and most of those places were unsavory.

  “As I approached womanhood, more and more men started noticing me and soliciting my father to provide them some time alone with me.” Her face softened just the slightest. “With all his faults and his desire for money to buy liquor and for gambling, he never succumbed to their entreaties.” Her brow furrowed suddenly, as if in pain. “There came an evening, though, when he had been drinking heavily with a man he knew named Salvatori. The man had come to Afrah from some other land. He was ill-favored and evil-looking with greasy black hair that hung in ringlets, and his face was always dirty with small pustules about his forehead and neck. His teeth were yellow and many were rotted making his breath particularly offensive.

  “It was rumored that he had worked as a slave trader and had left the business abruptly when his captain found that he had been raping both men and women slaves that he fancied, then killing them by a subtle poison that made it appear they had died of an infection. That he had escaped with his life under such circumstances was fortunate for him, perhaps, but far from it for me.

  “He had pleaded with my father many times for my favors. Although I did all I could to stay away from him, whenever he had an opportunity and my father wasn’t looking he would lift my skirts and touch me. I told my father that he was an evil person but I could not bring myself to tell him the full of it.

  “Salvatori was determined, though, and after getting my father drunk on some foul smelling liqueur I had never seen before, he challenged him to a game of stones – a game my father had a particular weakness for. He had offered a prize my father could not turn away from: Had my father won, he would have gotten one hundred silver pieces, a fortune to his mind. Against that, Salvatori stood to win my virginity and my future.” Again, she blushed.

  Since she was not looking, she did not see that Kemp also flushed deeply, though whether from anger or modesty or both, she would not have known even had she seen it. Morgan’s eyes were a study in contained rage as he listened to the story that he already knew too well.

  “The game was rigged; the stones had been marked. I could see that right away and I tried to tell my father, but he wouldn’t listen, so drunk was he and so great was his avarice.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she continued. “I went with Salvatori that night. He was a violent man. He...”

  “No more,” Morgan groaned. “No more. I cannot kill that bastard again though I would every day of my life if it were given to me to do so. Say no more, Peg, please!” And he turned and walked away, the pain of his memories as plain upon his face as it was on hers.

  She looked in the direction that Morgan had gone and sighed deeply before continuing. “My father died not long thereafter. He drank himself into a stupor and fell into a tide pool from one of the quays one night. He was still alive when they pulled him out, but he had broken his skull in the fall and died without ever knowing what eventually became of me.” There was another moment of silence as she collected herself and used the back of her sleeves to wipe the tears from her eyes.

  “Fate had treated me cruelly to that point of my life but it had not abandoned me altogether, though I often thought it had. By chance, there came a night when Morgan was in the tavern where Salvatori was operating his dishonest game of stones and one of the players accused him of cheating. Because he was a coward, he gave the man the money he had lost while loudly proclaiming his innocence. He then angrily packed up his game board and dragged me roughly by the arm out to the alley behind the tavern.” Peg shuddered and looked at Kemp just long enough for him to see the pain behind her eyes as she continued.

  “Whenever Salvatori was angry or frustrated, or sometimes for no apparent reason, he would beat me. Sometimes it was with his fists, sometimes with his feet, sometimes with a belt or a stick. That night it was his fists. His first blow was to my face and it knocked me back against a wall. As he swung a second time, his arm was caught by Morgan, who had followed us, and he twisted the arm in its socket until, with a cry of pain from Salvatori, there was a sharp cracking noise and the arm dropped useless to his side.

  “As Morgan looked in disbelief at the bruises about my face and neck and arms, many of them fresh and many of them already yellowing as they healed, Salvatori did the only brave thing I ever saw him do, though it ultimately proved the most foolish. He pulled a stiletto – the kind a woman would carry – from the folds of his shirt and stabbed at Morgan’s chest.

  “It was also the last thing he ever did voluntarily, for Morgan grabbed the hand holding the dagger which had deflected off a rib, slashing it, but not dangerously so. Holding his hand clenched about Salvatori’s so that Salvatori could not drop the dagger, he grabbed him by the hair with his other hand and pushed him back against the wall to the spot my own head had hit just a few heartbeats before. As Salvatori’s eyes watched his hand in horror, Morgan forced him to turn the point of the dagger toward his own throat.

  “Morgan’s face was a dispassionate mask as he pushed the dagger slowly toward Salvatori’s neck despite his desperate resistance, until the needle sharp point just punctured the artery that ran beside his windpipe. I could see the terror on his face as the blood began to pulse over his skin. He could smell its sweet metallic odor and feel its warmth as it slid into his collar and he begged me for help, but the desire for vengeance was upon me. I’m not proud that I rejoiced in his terror as the sweat ran down his face, nor that I smiled with spite as his eyes turned beseechingly toward me, but this was a man who richly deserved to die for all he had done to me as well as many others.

  “Morgan looked to me briefly, reading the grim determination in my face and the almost imperceptible nod of my head before he once more moved Salvatori’s hand toward his throat. He tried to scream as Morgan pushed the dagger slowly through the middle of his windpipe until its point severed his spinal cord. I should have been horrified, but I felt only relief when the blood bubbled from the hole in his throat as he fell heavily to the ground.

  “I was trembling violently as Morgan lifted me gently into his arms and carried me to the side yard where Tenable stood tied to a post. He placed me before him on his saddle that bitter winter eve and, with his arms close about me to ward off the cold, he took me to his room at the inn and placed me in his bed. He covered me well to help me control my shivering, not all of which was from the cold, then sat on the floor all that night outside the door of the room, guarding it against a man who could never hurt me again. He took me with him when he returned to Confirth and pleaded with the Duke for a job for me in his scullery.”

  At last she raised her eyes to Kemp’s. “Please, Kemp,” she said softly, “tell no one else. Let them believe I am Morgan’s daughter, for in my own mind, I am.”

  “You are his daughter without doubt. Let no one question that in my presence,” he replied huskily.

  Tearing his eyes away from Peg he looked with awe toward Morgan, regarding him where he paced back and forth near the road, still agitated from his remembrance of the horrors Peg had endured before he found her abused and helpless that night at the tavern in Afrah.

 
; 8

  The sun sent hazy shafts of light searching between the leaves of the trees, creating little dancing spots of light on the ground as the branches moved in the gentle mid-afternoon breeze. The dancing lights played across the faces of Scrubby and Wil where they sat with their backs against the trunk of a large oak, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. Near them in a low, boggy area at the edge of the Old Forest, a sow and her piglets cooled themselves in the mud and rooted for acorns, tubers, and whatever else they could find that suited their palates. As they watched the pigs mucking about in the bog, they discussed the disappearance of one of the younger hogs the previous day.

  “I grant you he was young enough to be easily brought down by a wolf or such,” Scrubby allowed, “but there’ve been none seen in these parts for years. Or bears either, for that matter.”

  “What about a mountain lion?” Wil asked. “Those are certainly big enough to bring down your young pig.”

  “None o’ those, either,” Scrubby replied. “No, most of us just give the sign behind our backs and allow the Old Forest to claim its share.”

  “Why?” asked Wil. “What claim does the Old Forest have on anything out here? By all accounts there’s game aplenty – and more – in there and it all belongs to the Prince. At least, that’s what we were always taught in school. What in the Forest could possibly need more?”

  Scrubby chuckled. “You may have heard that the Prince claims it as his, but the Old Forest belonged to the elves. It was theirs and it’s still theirs even though they’ve been gone for hundreds of years. It was their last home as they gathered to leave this place forever.