The Search for a Legend (Book 1 of Quest for Knowledge) by Christopher Jackson-Ash (bts book recommendations .txt) 📖

close to understanding its function and purpose. It is another enigma. Why did the creators provide it? Did they foresee the day when it would be needed? Were they preparing a means for us to preserve the Balance? Think well on these questions, this evening. We will talk more of it tomorrow.”

 

The sun was beginning to set and the magnificent stained glass windows became alive with colour. Simon’s head was abuzz with thoughts, even more colourful. What a day. I’m Gilgamesh reborn, the Everlasting Hero. I have a scabbard that needs a sword; not just any sword but the most powerful ever made. Jhamed is the son of an elf and a dwarf; now that would be a relationship to watch. There’s a time machine on top of this castle. Given everything else that has happened, I expect they’ll ask me to use it. My head hurts. I’m going crazy. It can’t be true. Suddenly the light, the aura, and the overload of information became too much. Simon collapsed. As he slumped in his seat he began to shake violently. As he lost consciousness he thought he heard a faint cry for help in his mind. I am yours, Simon. Come and claim me.

Two Wizards and a Witch

 

She cast her eyes around the room. Everything was just as it should be; servants bustled, guards stood to attention, and an air of opulence was evident. She took her seat on the ornate throne. It pleased her vanity that the diamond encrusted “Queen’s Throne” was more ornate and much larger than the simple mahogany “King’s Throne” where Jack was sitting. She looked at the King and hissed at him in a quiet whisper, so that the army of retainers wouldn’t hear, “Remember to let me do the talking. Welcome them and then leave them to me. Do you understand?” The King nodded weakly. She glanced into the long silver mirror for one last check. Her long black hair was perfect and her make-up immaculate. “Let them enter!” Queen Freda of Dishley commanded in a loud, firm voice.

 

Several minions scurried to open the elaborate doors to the throne room. A herald stepped forward and blew on a trumpet. “Your Majesties, beloved rulers of Dishley for whom each of us would die in an instant, two travellers from afar crave an audience with your esteemed Highnesses. With your Majesties’ approval, your humble servant presents the wizards Frisa the Curly-Haired and Hroc the Crow who represent the “Mightiest Wizard of All,” Weylyn the Wolf, Ruler of all FirstWorld.”

 

He bowed low to the thrones, while two others ushered the visitors into the room. The wizards looked like kindly old grandfathers, bent and frail with long white hair and beards. They looked almost identical, except that one had straight hair and the other's was what might kindly be termed “fly-away”. They shuffled into the room, each supporting himself with a simple wooden staff. Freda suppressed a laugh. She saw through their deception; she had dealt with wizards before.

 

The two visitors shuffled into position before the two thrones. They bowed, stiffly and not very low. One of them cleared his throat and made to speak. Freda nodded, discreetly, to the leader of the group of heavily armed guards who stood at attention to one side. He barked an order and the men drew their swords and surrounded the startled wizards. She spoke sweetly, in a voice that oozed sickly honey, a voice she kept for public occasions before people got to know her true nature.

 

“It is customary, in Dishley, for all visitors to kiss the feet of King Jack before they open their mouths to speak. Violation of this protocol is viewed as a serious insult and has been known to result in death. I’m sure your inaction is based only on your ignorance and is not a deliberate slight. Please, show your respect to his Majesty and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

 

She smiled at the two old men, who seemed to have taken much firmer grips on their staffs. They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. In turn, they shuffled forward, dropped slowly to their knees, and prostrated themselves at the feet of the King. Jack hardly seemed to notice. Freda smiled. Inside she already knew that they were too weak to withstand her. She nodded to the guard leader and the soldiers sheathed their swords and returned to their ceremonial positions.

 

The two wizards regained their original places and the first of them, with the unruly hair, cleared his throat again. This time Freda allowed him to continue. He tried to make eye contact with the King, but Jack seemed to be staring mindlessly into the middle distance. The wizard began to speak.

 

“Your Majesty, my name is Frisa and my companion is called Hroc. We are here on the command of our leader, Weylyn the Wolf, to discuss matters of great importance. We seek an urgent audience with you in private. It is a matter that affects the security of your Kingdom.” Jack made no response. Freda let them wallow in silence for longer than was necessary. She noticed that beads of sweat were forming on Frisa’s brow. She looked at her husband. “Jack, my love, perhaps you’ll let me deal with this matter.” She looked back at the visitors. “He’s distracted by important matters of state. You may speak to me, as if you were speaking to him. Isn’t that right my dear?” She wanted to give him a good kick; instead she reached over and tapped his arm.

 

“What? Oh, yes. Whatever you say, my dear.” The King went back to staring into the middle distance. “Where’s Christopher?”

 

A flash of fury shot through Freda. She did her best to mask it. “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll send Paul in to talk to you. Gentlemen, will you join me in my private quarters?” She stood and walked slowly from the throne room. Servants rushed to open doors and to grab the hem of her dress. She knew that she carried herself well; tall and upright with the long black dress making her appear to glide over the floor. She put on a show for the wizards, who followed in her wake.

 

Her private quarters were dark. The heavy black curtains were always drawn. Oil lamps and candles provided limited illumination. The furniture was heavy and ornate, upholstered in dark red and purple. Bookshelves lined the walls, packed with dusty volumes. A black cat was asleep in a basket in the corner. A raven fluttered in a birdcage, suspended from the ceiling above the cat’s basket, just too high for a cat to jump and reach it. Freda glided over to the couch and arranged herself there. She indicated to the wizards that they should sit in the lounge chairs on either side of her. She commanded her servants to bring tea.

 

The wizards shot glances at each other and shifted in their seats. They were uncomfortable; that was good. They tried to make small talk. “If I may be so bold, King Jack does not look well. I hope it is nothing serious?” Hroc ventured.

 

Freda looked disdainfully at him. “He is not long for this realm.”

 

Hroc looked shocked, which pleased Freda immensely. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

 

“Don’t be sorry, I’m not.” She watched him squirm with discomfort.

Frisa jumped in to save him. “I hope that prince Christopher is well. Is he ready to succeed his father?”

 

He had, unintentionally, pushed her button. The rage built inside her again. She jumped to her feet and vented her anger. The servants, returning with silver trays of tea and assorted biscuits, felt her wrath. The air in the room shimmered with the waves of hatred that flowed from her. The trays went flying and the servants screamed as they were scalded by the hot tea and assaulted by the black fury that tore at their bodies and lashed at their minds. The raven screamed and the cat awoke with a start and shrieked as its fur stood erect. The wizards gripped their staffs and muttered words of magic so that the waves dissipated before they hit them.

 

Finally, the shimmering subsided and the Queen sat down. The servants crawled off and closed the doors on the wreckage. Freda looked at the wizards. “Prince Paul is very well. Thank you for asking.” She hoped that they hadn’t observed her black form while the rage was upon her.

 

Frisa swallowed hard. “Perhaps we can forego tea, your Majesty, and get right to business?”

 

“Perhaps that would be best.” Her honey voice was back.

 

“There are matters afoot in the multiverse that threaten us all,” Frisa began.

She cut him off. “I care nothing for the multiverse. I have no plans for world domination. I have secured Dishley for the future King. If he wishes to embark on bigger conquests, then I shall be proud. However, I have achieved everything I set out to here. I enjoy being a big fish in a small pool. I have no interest in the affairs of wizards. So long as Weylyn the Wolf keeps clear of me, I shall do him no ill. But, if he tries to influence Dishley, I shall deal with him as I have dealt with Jack, who is like a puppet in my hands. Do I make myself clear?” She stared at Frisa, who, to her surprise met her glare.

 

He stood up and Hroc followed suit. She had known that this display would have to come. It was time for the boys to show how big their balls were. The two wizards brandished their staffs. They appeared to grow bigger and taller. Their bodies bristled with blue flames, which crackled down the lengths of their staffs. Frisa addressed her disdainfully.

 

“We have taken enough insults from a second rate queen, who rules by deception and third rate black arts. Be careful, lest Weylyn the Wolf decide to terminate your tenure permanently. Aid us in our quest and we shall ignore you. Resist us and we will eliminate you like a man squashes an annoying mosquito.”

 

Freda laughed, which she observed wasn’t the response Frisa was looking for. She maintained her silky smooth honey voice. “My dear Frisa, don’t you know that the tiny bite of one annoying mosquito, armed correctly, can bring down even the strongest man?”

 

Frisa ignored her. “You have something we want.”

 

Freda didn’t like being ignored. She didn’t like Frisa’s tone and she didn’t like being bullied. The rage grew in her again. This time she channelled it. The wizards would have been expecting something. They had their eyes fixed on her, waiting for a sign of attack. That was their last mistake. She channelled the anger through her familiars. The cat’s eyes were focussed on Frisa’s staff, the raven’s eyes on Hroc’s. She focussed her thoughts, distilled the hatred that burned in her black heart, and concentrated her rage.

 

The event was the antithesis of a flash. Pure blackness erupted from the familiars’ eyes and coated the wizards’ staffs. The staffs dissolved into nothing, rather than shattered. The wizards’ blue flames were doused. They became frail old men again. The cat and the raven were burned to dust. They died without complaint and Freda barely gave them a second glance. They could be replaced. She had an idea where two very powerful familiars could come from, in due course.

 

She waited for two days before visiting Frisa and Hroc. They were manacled and chained to the wall. They hadn’t been given any food or water and they had soiled their wizards’ cloaks so that the smell was ugly. By trying not to breathe too deeply, she came over even more haughty than usual.

 

“I do hope that you are enjoying Dishley’s hospitality. If there’s anything you need don’t be afraid to ask. You won’t get it.” She laughed at her own joke and at the pitiful sight in front of her. “I think that it’s time to introduce Prince Paul to the gentle art of torture.