The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (12 page)

Ariel echoed his earlier thoughts when she said “Perhaps instead of killing Sorial, we should work to make sure he and Ferguson never form an alliance.”

“Killing him is the easiest way to assure that never happens. But if eliminating him proves difficult, then poisoning his relationship with Ferguson, whatever that may be, presents an alternative.  It doesn’t, however, give us everything we want: a Lord of Earth who’s one of us.”

“His paramour is his weakness.”

“As has been the case for men and women throughout history.” Love - Justin wished he could have experienced it just once. He supposed what he had with Ariel was the closest he would ever get. “Very well, extend your net. Look for her as well as for him. But if you find either one, come to me with the information. Don’t act on your own.” She didn’t need the reminder, but he offered it nonetheless. Her sincere contrition for the way she had handled the situation with her brother didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t misstep again, especially if she believed there to be a quick path to redemption.

“What of you?” she asked. “Did you succeed last night?”

She was referring to his initial attempt to summon a djinn, a task he had tried far from the army in case the creature proved to be uncontrollable. He had been concerned about the havoc it could wreak if he couldn’t tame it. Nothing so dramatic had happened, however.

“I felt it. Deep below ground in the molten rock, I could sense its presence, and it knew I was questing for it. But all that damned earth interfered with the summoning. So it didn’t come, either because it feared being entrapped or because it didn’t recognize who or what was calling it. “

“Is there only one?”

Justin shook his head in the negative. “I sensed several, perhaps as many as a dozen, but they are farther beyond my reach than the one I touched. I don’t understand their society or culture, or even much about their true nature. I don’t doubt their existence and their value in battle should they be bound to me, but they’re elusive. Sometimes, I wonder if I might be better served scouring the far reaches of the world, beyond where men exist, in search of a living dragon.”

“What now? Try again? You certainly can’t give up.”

“No. They’re integral to my plan. One djinn in battle will be worth a hundred seasoned warriors, if not more. They can take the onus of using fire as a weapon from me, allowing me to husband my magic rather than wasting it. But there’s no benefit in continuing to probe for them. I have to visit the Yu’Tar library and seek lore about how to contact them. The fire wizards of old were seen in the company of djinn.”

“Perhaps they had cooperation from earth wizards in making the initial contact.”

Justin frowned at that possibility, but recognized she could be right. Many of the greatest magical endeavors involved multiple wizards, much as the heat bubble over Vantok was a result of his and Ariel’s cooperation. Some of the feats spoken of in myth and legend were said to require all four wizards working in concert. As things stood today, Justin couldn’t expect aid from Sorial in contacting the djinn. So there had to be another way. And if it was known, he would find clues in the Yu’Tar library.

“What do you think he can summon?  My brother, I mean.”

“Like us, he’s hampered by the passing of the ages. Many of the creatures that might have answered his call have ceased to exist. There are still rock wyrms; I assume he has mastery over them. There may be trolls and giants, although they could be extinct like the dragons. Beyond that... I suppose he might be able to marshal an army of burrowing animals or insects, but I don’t know how much value they would have in battle. The Lord of Water would have the most success binding creatures to his summons but their usefulness would be limited. A sea monster would have no value in a land battle.”

“How long until we’re ready for combat?”

“Soon. Time is both friend and enemy. The difficulty is determining when waiting becomes delaying.”

She nodded as if his words had clarified the schedule. “Where do you want me now? Aside from continuing my search for Sorial, that is.”

“Check on the progress of the king of Obis. And it might be a good time to make a little mischief in Vantok. Perhaps another of those rainless storms you enjoy. Anything to keep the population on edge, to erode their trust in their king and prelate, and to drive some to seek a less cursed locale in which to live. Refugees are easier to conquer than entrenched peasants and nobles with property to protect and defend.”

She nodded, put on her boots, and exited the tent, leaving Justin alone with his thoughts.

Tomorrow, he would travel to the library at Yu’Tar, one of the greatest repositories of knowledge from the ancient era. When Ferguson had traveled there a half-century ago, the trip had taken him more than a season in each direction, with an ocean to cross. Justin’s powers had enabled him to use a few short cuts but it had still consumed four weeks of his life to get there and another two weeks to uncover its specific location. On that initial trip, he’d had the foresight to set an ever-burning travel fire in the vicinity - a gateway that would allow him to pass there using any other travel fire almost instantaneously. There were limitations to the usefulness of fire-travel but, when it could be employed, it was superior to the opportunities offered by water, air, and earth.

Although seeking knowledge about how to summon djinn was his primary goal for visiting the library, it wasn’t his sole purpose. It was there, deep in the musty, mildewed archives that some of the most obscure and arcane scrolls existed, many scribed by wizards whose names were legendary. Hints in those documents had long fascinated Justin, fueling his obsession with The Otherverse. Their incompleteness was a source of frustration. Many had long since decayed into powder and others were written in languages lost to men. As for what he could read, much was intentionally obscure, intended only for those with a deep abstract understanding of magic. Justin was enough of a scholar to believe that, given sufficient time, he could discover the key that unlocked magic’s greatest mysteries. But, as he had told Ariel, time was both a friend and an enemy and, when it came to completing this task, it was more the latter than the former.

CHAPTER TEN: THE VISE CLOSES

Myselene was deeply concerned about the latest turn of events. Prelate Ferguson’s decision to create an arbitrary dividing line between secular law and ecclesiastical law threatened the integrity of the Crown. And if Azarak’s rule was in danger that meant her plans were also in jeopardy. Worse still, this could open the door to an ugly scenario she didn’t like to consider.

Her father’s arrival was imminent. He would likely be in Vantok within three weeks, possibly as early as Midwinter if he rode ahead of the majority of his entourage. If the political situation remained volatile, she wouldn’t put it past him to “help” Azarak quell the civil unrest through the deployment of Obis’ troops. That was Rangarak’s way, and it would be done “in the best interests of all involved.” Once the populace had been cowed, control would be ceded to Azarak, but Myselene’s “dowry” would turn into an occupying force and the king of Vantok would thereafter be a puppet of Obis. Azarak would resist such an arrangement and that stance would lead to his ouster, imprisonment, and possible execution. She paused to consider how Ferguson might use such a situation to his benefit. If the prelate agreed to assist Rangarak, he would almost certainly be given a secular post - possibly even that of chancellor. No matter what she said, her father would see the prelate as a stabilizing force, not a divisive one.

All this would be done in Myselene’s name, of course, to “ensure peace and harmony in the city at the time of her wedding,” but she didn’t want this. She wanted Vantok to stand on its own as the Jewel of the South. Turning it into a satellite of Obis was unacceptable. To avoid that, the situation with Ferguson had to be resolved or at least camouflaged so it didn’t come to King Rangarak’s attention.

She studied her reflection in the new mirror Azarak had procured for her - an early wedding gift. Made in far-off Andel, the westernmost of the northern cities, it was smooth and carefully polished and provided the best image she had ever seen of herself. Today, she wore a deep violet gown intended to complement her dark eyes and hair and contrast with her pale skin. It was a simple dress with a plunging neckline designed to draw eyes to the large amethyst dangling between her breasts at the end of a gold necklace. This outfit, simple yet elegant, was what she would don for her first appearance at a council meeting.  Officially, she wouldn’t be a member of that august body until her appointment was ratified, but she knew the other counselors wouldn’t flout the king’s wishes in this matter, especially with the most intractable of them having resigned.

She pulled a bell to summon her maid, Posie. As always, the woman was the personification of promptness and courtesy. She entered and curtseyed, then stood awaiting her lady’s pleasure, head lowered. At 30 years of age, the mousey woman had lived her entire life in service, starting at a young age working alongside her mother, who had been a maid in the palace for two generations of kings. She was too obsequious for Myselene, who preferred servants to have a little spine and a willingness to speak their minds. This reticence was a characteristic of those who worked in Vantok’s palace. During her early days in the city, when she had been an honored guest and not yet the king’s paramour, she had been “assigned” a girl close to her age who had fawned over her. Posie was older but no less slavish in her attentiveness. Myselene had sent for Nymia, her childhood maid from Obis, but she was accompanying the wedding party and wouldn’t arrive for several weeks. Until then, Posie was her closest female companion.

“How do I look, Posie?” asked Myselene, continuing to scrutinize her reflection. Rumor had it she was the greatest beauty of the North. But she was in the South now, and she had seen a great many beauties.

“Gorgeous, Milady, but that’s how ’talways is with you.”

Myselene suspected Posie would have said exactly the same words had her mistress been a 70-year old harridan. Politeness always trumped honesty where servants were concerned. And, truth be told, bluntness was often rewarded with a dismissal.

She was quiet for a moment as she considered the reason she had asked the maid to attend her. It wasn’t for help with the gown, the necklace, her hair, or her shoes. She could attend to those things herself - the move from Obis to Vantok hadn’t impeded her ability to make herself presentable. It was to ask a simple question. “Posie, do you believe the gods are dead as some folk say?”

She seemed genuinely surprised by what her mistress suggested. “Dead, Milady? Don’t think that’s rightly possible, them being the gods and all. How does a god die? They’s forever, I reckon. Turned away from us, they did, because we was becoming all high and mighty. Sinners all is we, though we don’t see it. But dead? Whoever says that needs to spend long hours in prayer and repentance.”

Myselene avoided a sigh. Herein lay Azarak’s problem. In a few short sentences, Posie had clarified why a public denunciation of Ferguson could represent political suicide. The prelate had played the match too well. He had outmaneuvered Azarak at every step, forcing him into a position from which there was no escape. The only possible move for the king at this point was something bold, unexpected, and potentially disastrous.

Myselene envisioned the situation with a clarity that had previously escaped her. She was reminded why it was so important to befriend servants. They saw things differently and, in their perspective could often be discovered truths that escaped rulers and nobles.

In this case, everyone with privileged knowledge of the situation accepted some basic tenets: the gods were dead, magic had returned to the world, a rogue wizard was preparing to attack Vantok using magic as his first salvo, and the role of priests had been reduced to that of comforters.

But this wasn’t the reality for the majority of Vantok’s citizenry. They hadn’t been told the truth. Ferguson had never made a statement declaring the age of the gods to be past. The Temple hadn’t moved to quell rumors that the heat wave and drought were signs of the gods’ disapproval. Consequently, the peasants were living a lie and Ferguson was complicit. In him, the people saw not only their spiritual leader but perhaps the only one who could guide them out of the current situation. Mentions of magic would be met with scorn. Everyone knew wizards were things of long-ago myths and stories. Who would believe in them today? Certainly no one with a rational mind.

The peasants represented the backbone of Azarak’s strength. As long as they supported him, his grip on the throne was secure. In a masterstroke, Ferguson had found a way to subvert Azarak’s political base without forcing a confrontation. Their loyalty remained as it had always been: to Azarak on secular matters and to Ferguson on spiritual ones. If the two came into conflict, however, the majority would stand with the prelate. And that would spell doom for the current regime. Did Ferguson think to be king? Or would he be content to work behind-the-scenes with a puppet on the throne?

Myselene wished it was possible to send an assassin into the temple, but Azarak had told her Ferguson’s security was too elaborate. He was untouchable, at least physically. But was there another way? Could he at least be discredited?

* * *

Late that night, Myselene reclined naked in Azarak’s bed, waiting for the king to finish his business of the day and join her. She wasn’t quite asleep when he arrived an hour past midnight. As was his custom, he doffed his outer clothing, rang for a goblet of spirits, and collapsed into a chair. Brushing away strands of the slumber seeking to embrace her, Myselene sat up, the bed sheets demurely caressing her form. She noted there was a slight chill in the air, the first she had felt since coming to Vantok.

The darkness of the king’s expression bespoke more bad news. Noticing her gaze, he related what Toranim told him within the hour. “A group of influential nobles have sent a written notification that they’re withdrawing official support for the Crown. According to their declaration, they no longer believe my reign represents their interests. Until such time as their ‘concerns are addressed,’ they’re refusing to pay taxes, pulling men employed in their personal militias from service in Vantok’s army, and intending to handle their own distribution of food and grain. In addition, before any man in their service is permitted to stand trial, they claim first right to determine the validity of any charges. If they find him unjustly accused, he is not to be subject to the Crown’s judgment.”

“How many?”

“Six large families and a handful of smaller ones. Not enough to cripple the military or the food supply but enough to create a bloodbath if I move against them with the army. They know the numbers and the situation and made sure they had sufficient support to avoid intervention before making the announcement. It will be posted tomorrow, so the entire city will be aware of it by mid-morning.”

“Is this Ferguson’s doing? Another attempt to undermine your authority?”

“I don’t think so. As clever as our esteemed prelate is, he’s not behind all the city’s myriad problems. The heat and drought are the real problems, and the fact that I was unwilling to let the nobles set their own prices for grain.”

“You can’t let this stand.”

“I don’t intend to. The alternative to direct military action is to blockade the estates of those who signed the declaration. No one in, no one out. No supplies in. They’re well-provisioned and some have access to private water sources. If it’s a waiting game, it could last for a very long time. But I think our enemy to the south will have a say in that. Nothing is better at uniting a fractured population than an outside threat.”

“So your policies are based on the assumption that we’re going to be attacked?” To Myselene, that was an unsound basis for quelling a potential rebellion.

“I suppose they are, but it’s foolish not to consider that when making domestic policy. There’s no need to come down hard on the nobles, which could result in them burning their grain stores in retaliation, when we can pen them in and wait them out. And if an attack doesn’t come this year, weather may force the city to empty. Basingham has been absorbing a steady trickle of refugees for two years and, if the heat gets worse this Summer, that trickle will swell to a stream. Vantok is dangerously close to no longer being viable as a place of mass human habitation, at least in the near-term. So the rebellious inclinations of a group of nobles are of less consequence than they would be in prosperous times.”

Myselene considered. There was sense in what the king proposed. It was an unorthodox strategy, and one her father, who believed diplomacy was useful only after the enemy had been crushed, would reject. A policy of containment allowed Azarak to see how things developed with the weather, with Sorial, and with the situation to the south. If he forced a confrontation, it would be citizens fighting citizens and the result could tear Vantok apart from within. She wondered, though, how things had gotten so bad so fast. And that’s where it came back to Ferguson. The nobles didn’t see the dangers for what they were. As far as they were concerned, the heat was a temporary inconvenience; they had no inkling that magic had returned or that there was an enemy force building to the south. To them, this was all about the profits Azarak was denying them by decreeing that the maximum price for grain be affordable to all, not just wealthy merchants.

“The people have to be told the whole truth,” she said at last. “This can’t go on. By keeping the citizens in ignorance, the prelate is endangering the future of this city.”

“Toranim said much the same thing to me not thirty minutes ago, and I agree with you both. I can wait out the nobles, but I can’t wait out Ferguson, especially now that we know Sorial’s return is imminent. I need Lady Alicia back in the city or at least in safe hands before he arrives. The arrest warrant I signed for Ferguson lacks teeth and he has understandably refused my ‘invitation’ to discuss our differences anywhere outside the temple. So I have to resort to something… unorthodox.”

Myselene hid the beginnings of a smile. A penchant for bold, decisive action was Azarak’s most attractive quality. For her, if power was an aphrodisiac, the way the king employed it made it more of one. He didn’t flaunt it the way some rulers did. He didn’t gird himself with it as was her father’s wont. But he was unafraid to bring it to bear when circumstances warranted it.

“I’m going to make a speech during an upcoming public audience. In that speech, I’ll reveal what Ferguson has kept hidden - that the gods have departed and we’ve been left to our own devices. I’ll speak of wizards - both the one we hope to woo and the one whose powers are responsible for the heat and the drought. And I’ll conclude by affirming that the Temple is now to be considered beholden to the Crown. Since there are no gods, the priests no longer toil under a divine mandate, and any priest who doesn’t acknowledge the absolute authority of the Crown will be subject to arrest for treason.”

Myselene nodded. It was daring. If it worked, Azarak would win his battle with Ferguson quickly and decisively, and might even score a pre-emptive strike against the nobles. But there were dangers. How would the populace react to this news? They had heard rumors about “the death of the gods” for years but it was something altogether different to confront the unthinkable as a truth rather than idle gossip. Worse still was the possibility that Azarak wouldn’t be believed and Ferguson might counter by denying the king’s claims. That could lead to a revolt and a coup.