Read Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) Online
Authors: James Berardinelli
“I have a mission for you,” said the wizard. “I need you to travel to the city of Basingham. Don’t enter it. Ignite a fire that I can use to monitor what happens. Remain outside the front gates and inform them you come as an emissary of Justin, Lord of Fire and king of Vantok, offering terms of surrender.” He then issued a list of non-negotiable demands. “If they accept, you need do nothing more than return to me. If they refuse, level the gate and kill as many as you can without endangering yourself or proceeding into the city. Most likely, they will ask for time to consider. In that case, destroy the gate but avoid killing anyone who doesn’t directly interfere.
“Seek for traces of four people: The Lord of Earth; The Lady of Water; Myselene, pretender queen of Vantok; and Prelate Ferguson.” He conveyed images of the four through a mind-link with the djinn. “Now go and return as soon as possible so I know whether to prepare the army for battle or an occupation.”
* * *
Later that day, Justin spent several hours perusing the temple’s vast library. Many of the scrolls and tomes archived here couldn’t be found elsewhere on the continent but, for arcane matters, it was a meager repository. From his time spent as Ferguson’s apprentice in this very building, Justin was aware of what the library contained and, for advancing his capabilities as a wizard, it was inferior to the treasure trove represented by the faraway Yu’Tar collection. A part of him dearly wished he had the time and opportunity to return there but life had moved on. Still, there were things here that couldn’t be found there, chief amongst them being the stores of genealogical records utilized by Ferguson to plan the couplings necessary to produce likely wizards. With access to those, Justin was hopeful he could locate a promising future Lord of Earth or Lord of Water.
Were there still living priests within the walls of the great building or down in the warren of tunnels and catacombs that spread from its lower levels like the roots of a great tree? Undoubtedly. Upon seizing Vantok, Justin had ordered the emptying of the temple. Hundreds of priests had been captured and killed but the lack of women and treasure within the holy building made it an unappealing target for pillaging. The Lord of Fire didn’t doubt that some of his former brethren survived in hiding. So, although this was a conquered and mostly desolate building, care had to be taken when exploring here alone. A knife to his back could kill him as easily as it could any normal man. Justin didn’t relax his guard.
As expected, Ferguson had left nothing. The prelate might have brought the records with him but, more likely, he had committed the key names to memory and burned the written evidence. That was his way, the kind of thing the prelate would do since it enhanced his value. Ferguson loved to hoard secrets and information, knowing it made the price of killing him unacceptably high. If Justin was to gain the knowledge he sought, it would have to come directly from Ferguson. Another reason to push forward with his recently hatched scheme.
“Lord of Fire.” The disembodied voice was unnaturally loud in the silence of the temple. Justin was so surprised he dropped the musty tome he had been thumbing through. Quickly recovering, he spun in a full circle, questing with all his senses - normal and supernatural - for the origin of the voice. He recognized it but only second-hand, having never met the man face-to-face. There was nothing. It radiated from the stone all around him. The chamber and the many corridors and rooms immediately beyond it were as empty as the grave.
“Lord of Earth,” responded Justin cordially, ready to attack or defend if action proved necessary. Locating Sorial was impractical; the other wizard was using the rock as a conduit for his voice and might be speaking from as close as an underground pocket four feet beneath Justin’s feet or a far away as miles outside Vantok. When it came to communication, what Justin could do with fire, Sorial could do with earth. “You wish to converse? Now, when your failure cries from the graves of thousands?”
“What do you seek?” asked Sorial’s voice, ignoring the taunt. An abstruse question but one that Justin intuitively understood.
“If you have Ferguson, which I’m sure you do, you know the answer to that.”
“The Otherverse.”
“Eventually, yes. But there are more immediate goals that demand my attention. Eliminating you, for example. You and your wife. You may find this strange, but I bear you no personal ill will. You had the misfortune of stepping through a portal at an inopportune time, when the situation no longer afforded me the luxury of conveniently ignoring you. Tell me truthfully - if I had extended the hand of friendship in the wake of your transformation, would you have taken it?”
There was a moment’s pause, as if Sorial was considering the question. “No. Not once I understood your goals.”
Justin nodded as if expecting the response. “Then your sister was correct in dissuading me from recruiting you. Her mistake was trying to ‘convert’ you rather than killing you outright. One of a great many mistakes she made. Had she plunged a dagger into your heart rather than trying to convince you to turn against Ferguson, things would be different now.”
“What will it take to end the bloodshed?”
“That you ask means you don’t fully comprehend the reasons for my campaign. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop this. And just because a city surrenders doesn’t mean it won’t be sacked. There are forces at work you don’t comprehend,
necessities
that must be met.”
“You think you know how to enter the Otherverse.” It wasn’t a question.
Justin smiled. It was thin, unfriendly expression. “
Think
is as good a word as any. Or
believe
. There are no assurances and if I’m wrong then it will be up to others in my wake to try. Perhaps you, although I don’t expect you to live long enough. The Otherverse is the last great magical secret. To penetrate beyond that door, once glimpsed so tantalizing but not opened… Every wizard with a shard of greatness within him must seek it eventually.
“But this is also about banding humanity together. I’m still a true believer, you see. I felt the dissolution of the gods; what Ferguson preaches is real. The gods are dead and, for us to survive, there must be a new order. While the prelate seeks to achieve this through manipulation and trickery that maintain his preeminence, I intend to impose it. The cities will be broken then united under one banner. You and your wife will be replaced by others who share my views.”
“There are many who’ll try to stop you. The surprises you used to take Vantok won’t be as effective in future conflicts.”
“True, so I will have to concoct new surprises. And if you were more of a threat, you would have already attacked rather than speaking like a phantom. The power of words on one such as me is overrated, Your Magus.”
Justin’s last comments were met by silence. Sorial had withdrawn.
The curious encounter left Justin feeling uneasy. Sorial’s purpose had been unclear. Had he been trying to open a dialogue, seeking a way to end the war, or fishing for information? At least Sorial’s visitation had answered one question: The Lord of Earth had survived the encounter with the efreet, although Justin had never assumed differently. Once, Justin had viewed the other wizard as an inconvenience. Now, it was evident that Sorial was a serious danger to his carefully formulated plans.
A sudden convulsion of the ground nearly knocked Justin to the ground. Damn and blast! As unprepared as he had been for the attack, it was nevertheless easy to repel. The stone beneath his feet jumped then fragmented. Tiny chips from a shattered flagstone, none larger than a fingernail, exploded into the air, each traveling at a speed to rival a projectile expelled from a revolver. Justin used a hastily-erected shield of fire to incinerate them before they could cause damage to his frail body. He sensed there was more to the attack than a halfhearted attempt to injure him. Even a wizard of Sorial’s inexperience would recognize that such a clumsy assault couldn’t succeed. So what was the motive? Was it merely a warning or something more purposeful?
As he departed the library, a smile creased Justin’s features. He had to admit it was energizing to be locked in a duel with someone who could boast a degree of cleverness. When it came to manipulation, Sorial was a babe compared to Ferguson but he was less of a novice than Justin would have expected from someone with his background and upbringing. In the end, however, no matter how much skill Sorial showed in deception and misdirection, he wouldn’t be an insurmountable obstacle. Experience and depth of knowledge counted for much in a clash of wizards and Justin had amassed two decades’ worth of those qualities to Sorial’s half-year. Still, the easiest path to defeat in a situation like this was carelessness. Justin couldn’t afford to let down his guard and he had to strike fast and hard. The sooner he rid himself of Sorial and Alicia, the better his chances of attaining the ultimate prize. It wasn’t an option; it was mandatory. With the current Lord of Earth and Lady of Water blocking his path, he couldn’t reach the Otherverse. Their elimination and replacement was as important as capturing the continent’s cities. That made Ferguson a key. It was time to do what he could to “recruit” his old master.
Sorial, Lord of Earth and Chief Wizard for Vantok’s Queen-in-Exile, rose slowly and gracefully from the under the ground following his “meeting” with Justin. The hard-packed dirt upon which Queen Myselene’s tent was erected barely rippled as the naked young man emerged from it.
At age 18, Sorial was well-developed and well-endowed, but his brief tenure as a wizard had already begun to affect his appearance. His bronzed skin was more rough and weathered than might be expected for one of his youth and worry lines crinkled the corners of his lively brown eyes. His dark hair, already showing hints of gray, was shaved close atop his head and on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. The scars on his face and body were reminders of his years as a stableboy, the period of imprisonment and torture preceding his introduction to magic, and his recent battle with the efreet. His nose was misshapen as a result of childhood brawls and the workmanship of the late tyrant of Havenham, who had also sliced off his earlobes and several toes from his right foot. His most noticeable injuries were to his left arm, which ended just below the shoulder, and his left leg, which had been replaced beneath the knee by a stone prosthetic of his own devising. What few knew was that, as a payment for his accepting the mantle of The Lord of Earth, Sorial had given up his senses of smell and taste. Some pleasures of the flesh were therefore muted for him.
Gathered awaiting Sorial’s return were the queen and her closest advisors: Sorial’s wife, Alicia, The Lady of Water; Chancellor Gorton; Overcommander Carannan, Alicia’s father; and Vice-Chancellor Ferguson, until recently the prelate of Vantok.
The first thing Sorial noticed upon emerging was his wife’s expression of displeasure. She didn’t like him being naked in front of other women, especially if one of those women was Queen Myselene. She viewed Sorial’s body, especially the part of it between his legs, as her property and wasn’t pleased when other women, especially those as attractive as his liege, gave him an appraising look.
She needn’t have worried; although Sorial acknowledged that Myselene was lovely with her long, dark hair, violet eyes, and ivory complexion, he preferred Alicia’s form and face. His wife had shoulder-length hair the color of spun gold that had lost little of its luster despite its recent deprivations. Her green eyes, portals into her mood, were her most astounding feature. Her tiny body was perfectly proportioned for one of her size. Sorial’s boyhood friend, Rexall, often commented on the smallness of her breasts but Sorial adored them.
“Was it successful?” asked Myselene, not averting her gaze as Sorial casually retrieved his clothing and dressed.
“Successful in that I was able to confound him and get a feel for his magical signature. He won’t be able to fool us again, at least not the way he did last time.” During the Battle of Vantok, the efreet had impersonated Justin in a successful attempt to lure Sorial away from the city. The second part of The Lord of Fire’s plan, for the efreet to kill Sorial, hadn’t worked; Sorial had instead discovered and exploited the creature’s weakness.
“How is the city?” asked Carannan. A handsome man in his early forties, the former duke, now the senior military man in Myselene’s depleted army, looked bulky in full plate armor. He had recently shaved both head and face as was common among high-ranking officers. His resemblance to Alicia was minimal but they shared the same fiery green eyes; her looks were inherited in equal parts from his wife and sister.
“The entire peasants’ quarter has been burned to the ground, and parts of the nobles’ sections. The palace and temple appear largely untouched and Warburm will be glad to hear that The Wayfarer’s Comfort stands, although I can’t vouch for its condition. It ain’t as we feared; the city hasn’t been razed.”
“Then The Lord of Fire plans to re-inhabit it. He thinks not just of destruction.” The speaker was Ferguson, the most controversial member of the queen’s small council. Approaching a full century of life, the former prelate looked younger than his age, but had lost much of the vigor evident in his manner before Sorial had ordered him arrested a half-year ago. His flowing white locks had been shorn as had his glorious beard, revealing a pruned and wrinkled visage. He wore the gray robe of the penitent but there was nothing humble about his attitude. He had been elevated to his current position over Sorial’s objections; Myselene had argued that his knowledge and counsel were worth an official title. Technically, he was no longer under arrest although his movements were shadowed by one of Carannan’s men. Ferguson was valued but not trusted.
Much to his dismay, Sorial was forced to agree with Ferguson’s assessment. “Despite the violence of his attack, he’s treated the city as one might expect from an occupier. If we plan to retake the city…”
“
When
we plan to retake the city,” said Myselene, emphasizing the correction. “I agree it’s not practical at the moment, but my entire life - if it takes that long - will be devoted to that goal. Azarak’s city will be returned to his line. A usurper won’t sit comfortably on that throne.”
“Other concerns must be addressed first,” said Chancellor Gorton, running a hand through his normally perfectly coiffed mane of gray-streaked black hair. His dark eyes briefly passed over everyone in the room, lingering the longest on Ferguson as if assessing whether the man could be trusted with privileged information, before continuing. “Retaking Vantok may be seen as an ultimate objective. But to do so, we must stop The Lord of Fire’s advance and raise a new army. Neither will be easy but the first step might be for Your Majesty to press her claim in Obis. As the only surviving issue of King Rangarak, your decision to pursue the throne would garner immediate support and, if you arrived accompanied by two wizards, some who would otherwise challenge you might step aside.”
“There really isn’t another way, is there?” asked Myselene.
Gorton shook his head. “You could spend decades recruiting mercenaries and outcasts and not get a fifth of the men you would have at your disposal wearing your father’s crown. With Obis’ twenty thousand, you could crush The Lord of Fire’s army, assuming the magical component could be attenuated, and march south as Vantok’s liberator.”
“This is a short-term game, Your Majesty,” interjected Ferguson. “The Lord of Fire moves quickly because he must. His time is running out. His powers will begin to wane if they haven’t already. The life of a wizard burns brightly but doesn’t last long. Justin is past his fortieth birthday. Only a handful of wizards in recorded history have lived that long. This isn’t a situation when patience is prudent.”
“Basingham and Earlford are lost,” said Gorton. “But we’ve known that from the beginning even if King Durth didn’t. As Vantok went, so goes the rest of the South. Any resistance put up by the two remaining cities will be crushed even if our wizards decide to fight. Once The Lord of Fire controls the South, perhaps he will wait out Winter…”
Ferguson interrupted. “He won’t. Tactically, that might make sense. Only a fool or someone pressed by urgency would willingly fight a Winter war in the North. Justin is no fool but he can’t chance losing fifteen weeks waiting for the seasons to change. Once he’s taken Earlford, he’ll strike at Syre. Then, with the weather at its most bitter, he’ll turn his attention to Obis. We all know that if your father’s city falls, Andel’s capitulation will be a formality. The key to everything is Obis.”
“Can you guess his end-game?” asked the queen.
“He seeks control of the source of magic. To obtain that, he believes it necessary to command all the cities and, undoubtedly, to head a united quartet of wizards. Thwarting him means depriving him of those goals.”
“But we have three of the four wizards in this camp.”
“Having don’t mean holding, Your Majesty,” said Sorial. “Justin’s skill in magic makes him a formidable adversary - one Alicia and I together can’t overcome given the current gap in magical aptitude. As for Ariel - we may have her under our control but she ain’t gonna fight for us. Keeping her here merely deprives Justin of her aid. Once we’ve found her replacement…”
“The Lady Lavella,” said Ferguson.
“What?”
“You asked me for the name of a likely replacement for Ariel. I give you the Lady Lavella.”
“My sister was the previous Wizard’s Bride,” said Carannan. “Of course she’d be a candidate.”
Ferguson simply nodded.
A thought occurred to Sorial. “This was all planned before. My brother Braddock - you intended to bring him to Vantok and marry him to Lavella. With Alicia and me, you’re just repeating what you weren’t able to do twenty years ago. Earth and Water instead of Fire and Air.”
“I don’t know if Lavella has a magical affinity. My plans never advanced enough to make testing her a necessity. Her lineage hints at it but she must be brought near a portal to be sure. There are other names but none as promising. The House Darmania has engaged in frequent inbreeding to keep the line as strong as possible.” He turned to Carannan. “Your father, Your Grace, is one of the few ‘outsiders’ allowed into the mix to keep the blood from becoming too stale. I would have considered you a likely candidate for Earth if we didn’t know from a childhood trip near Ibitsal that you’re ignorant to the portal’s call.”
“So we’ll test Lady Lavella at the Ibitsal portal when we go to the North,” said Myselene. “Then we can determine what to do with the current Lady of Air.” There was no decision to be made; if Lavella proved suitable, Ariel would be executed.
“I have to leave as soon as possible for the Yu’Tar Library,” said Alicia. The suddenness of her assertion startled everyone including Sorial. He had known his wife intended to visit the overseas bastion of wizardly knowledge but didn’t expect it to be so soon. She met his surprised expression with impeccable logic. “There’s no avoiding a confrontation with Justin. Sooner or later, we’re going to be forced into it. I don’t know whether the library contains secrets that’ll give us a better chance against him or greater insight into the goal he’s chasing but if there’s a chance, we have to take it. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for ‘a better time.’”
Sorial didn’t like it. He hated being parted from her, especially over long distances for an extended period of time. But there was no way he could justify accompanying her. He was needed here to act in his capacity as Vantok’s wizard and his illiteracy meant that he couldn’t help his wife with this quest. She was uniquely qualified to go.
“I have to speak with you before you leave,” said Myselene, her voice subdued. “I have a… request… to make of you.”
“I’m your loyal subject, Your Majesty.” There was formality and a little wariness in Alicia’s response. Sorial looked into her eyes and saw a flash of sadness and resignation. She knew what was going to be asked of her and didn’t like it. In their short period in the refugee camp, Alicia and Myselene had spent much time together; they had apparently discussed this, whatever it was.
“I’ll go tomorrow. I want to spend one more night with
my husband
before leaving.” There was no mistaking her emphasis on those two words.
* * *
King Durth was the perfect picture of a kindly grandfather with his broad, smiling face, snow-white hair, and seemingly cheerful disposition. It was all an act, of course. Durth was shrewd and recognized that the more senile or besotted people thought him to be, the easier it was to get what he wanted from them. Myselene, however, was onto his act. Years ago, her father had warned her there was no more devious and duplicitous ruler in the human kingdoms than Durth and Myselene kept that in mind in all her dealings with him.
They met alone in a small chamber, although the queen wasn’t naïve enough to believe their words were between only the two of them. The most privy rooms in every palace typically had several spies listening.
“So you offer me one wizard where you have two. I thought they were married and came as a package.” The smile on Durth’s lips didn’t reach his cool green eyes.
“The Lady Alicia is departing to engage in some research on ways we might be better able to stop The Lord of Fire’s advance. She fought in the Battle of Vantok and proved somewhat… ineffectual. The Lord Sorial, however, was able to defeat the enemy’s most powerful magical ally. I offer his services.”
“Protected by two wizards and an army of about 8000, Vantok fell in less than a day. Explain if you can how things will be different here, with only one wizard and an army less than half the size of the one defending your city?”
“You have walls. Those will count for a great deal when it comes to defending Basingham.” It was a weak response. The truth was that Myselene didn’t see any way it could be different here. That had been the crux of her argument with Ambassador Uthgarb when trying to procure military assistance in the days leading up to Justin’s invasion. She had informed the ambassador that if The Lord of Fire wasn’t stopped at Vantok, nothing would prevent him from claiming the entire South. Her opinion hadn’t changed. If anything, the ease with which Vantok had fallen confirmed that belief.
“Walls can be brought down. My reports of the Battle of Vantok mention a dragon. I don’t know whether or not to believe that but there have been enough strange things for me not to discount it entirely. And if there is a dragon, I doubt Basingham’s walls will be able to withstand it. So I ask you again: how can my city be saved?”