Free In Pursuit Of Wisdom (Book 1) by Steve M. Shoemake Page A

to, Lionel, but this is the strangest writing I’ve ever seen.”  He dipped his quill into a small jar of ink.  Ten minutes passed in relative silence.
    “How long will it take you to copy this?” asked Lionel impatiently.   Magi looked over at Kyle, who shrugged unhelpfully.  Magi put his face down close to the scroll, pouring over the intricate details of the writing and knew it would be a painstaking effort.  Maybe a few hours, perhaps even the rest of the night, and unfortunately it wasn’t something you could divide and conquer.  Magi would have to recreate the whole thing from scratch himself.
    “Hard to say, Lionel.  I would guess several hours, at least.  Sound about right, Kyle?”  Magi asked.
    T urning to see what Kyle thought, Magi saw the thin blade of an Assassin drawn quickly across Lionel’s throat from the shadows behind him.  His vocal cords were cut before he could scream as blood splattered onto Magi’s copy in progress.  Lionel’s body fell to the floor, and by the time Magi and Kyle found their voice, their friend the Ranger was dead and the Assassin was gone.
     
     
    ~Trevor~
     
    Looking down at the forest floor, Trevor tried for a few hours of Thief’s Sleep.  He struggled to shut down his mind tonight, still recalling the events of the last month or so…
    The knight was dead at his feet, glued to cave floor, a hole in the base of his skull.  It wasn’t that Trevor detested or abhorred killing people; he didn’t, especially when it was them or him.  He just preferred to avoid it—less risky.  Couldn’t be helped in this case.   Quickly cleaning his blade, he hid to see if the other knight would come investigate.
    He did not.  Trevor peeked around the curve in the natural cave path leading to the bridge, and saw the knight standing there, attentive as ever.  He must have heard that his relief was not coming, however.
    Knights.  Duty and honor in this God-forsaken, Dark, Dark World.  Hmph.  No matter.  Trevor immediately proceeded to phase two of this plan.  Climbing silently to a spot about ten yards of the cavern floor, still somewhat hidden from the knight, he found another stone outcropping that gave him a small ledge upon which he could kneel.  Carefully taking out his blow darts, Trevor took aim in the flickering light.  He knew he had only one shot.
    Taking a deep breath, and with the precision even his brethren in the Black Guild could appreciate, he fired his dart…straight into the water skin of the knight.  The puncture was significant.  When the knight looked up and saw Trevor, it took a moment to realize what was happening.  Picking up the skin, he instinctively tore out the dart, and water began flowing freely out.  He sought to drink as much as he could, but soon it was empty.
    “Filthy Thief!  You think your toy darts will hurt me?  Come fight me like a man!”  The knight slashed the air in frustration.
    Trevor said nothing.  He retreated back around the bend slightly, and tipped a few drops of poison into his spare waterskin.  He knew the knight was sweating inside that mail, and would grow parched within a day if no relief came.  Figuring it was just the two of them splitting shifts, heading back up top for water, food, and proper sleep before returning for their shift guarding the bridge, Trevor himself just waited.
    And waited.
    After what must have been a day or longer, he was convinced there was no relief coming for this knight, who would be very thirsty indeed.  I wonder if these fools know that it was my own Guild that hired them in the first place?  Doubt it.  One of the Masters must have posed as some honorable nobleman looking for a pair of knights to safeguard some gold that he kept safe.  They probably have no idea they’re part of my Test.
    Trevor stepped out of the shadows and allowed himself to peek around the bend again.  The knight was slumped over, leaning on his sword.  The fire by his side was low.  Trevor