The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (15 page)

* * *

Sorial awoke after a deep, refreshing sleep on his first new morning in Vantok. He had slept naked to allow maximum contact between his body and the soft, springy ground beneath with the babbling of the gently flowing river having lulled him to sleep. This morning, it provided him with a way to sluice the dust of the road from his body, allowing him to be more presentable to those he would encounter today. It was one thing to look dirty and bedraggled while wandering the streets as an unremarkable traveler. It was another thing altogether when revealing himself to be the first wizard Vantok had known in nine hundred years.

Sentimentality had influenced his choice of a sleeping location. He could have easily afforded Vantok’s most expensive inn, The Golden Stag, but he had chosen instead to lie under the naked sky near the place where he and Alicia had sometimes flirted during their irregular courtship. The river was lower and murkier than it had been when Sorial last visited a year ago; even though it originated far from Vantok, its passage through leagues of dry, hot countryside had taken a toll, reducing the once-mighty waterway to a gentle stream.

Once he was bathed and dressed, Sorial took a deep breath and began the short walk along the well-groomed path leading to Carannan’s mansion. For the first time since beginning the return journey to Vantok, he felt a sense of anxiety. This was his last chance to back out. He could easily summon his rock wyrm and return to the quiet solitude of his cave. No one need know he had come back. But what would that accomplish? And, more importantly, how would that further his desire to be reunited with Alicia? No, this was the path he had chosen. Whether he was ready to take his place in public as a wizard was another matter altogether, but he might spend another ten years in a subterranean world and not come closer to accomplishing what a true Lord of Earth should be able to. The time had arrived for him to reveal himself and stand against his sister and The Lord of Fire. He trusted he knew enough to ensure he wouldn’t be easy prey for them. Whether he could survive a conflict was a question time would almost certainly answer.

His evening at The Delicious Dancer had proven fruitful, especially once it was known that, despite his method of dress, he had coin aplenty and was willing to spend it. It was amazing how a couple of free rounds loosened tongues. The city, it seemed, was not a contented place. Although most of the common folk approved of the king, there was tension between the Crown and some of the influential nobles. It was unclear where the Temple stood in all of this, although the concept of the gods having passed from existence was not seriously entertained by a majority of the populace. The prevailing belief about the heat and drought was that it was a punishment from the gods and men would be best served by righting the wrongs of their ways, whatever those might be. Any who thought otherwise were outliers or perhaps heretics. A mention of the word “wizard” had earned Sorial treatment as an eccentric. But, as long as he was paying, no one had minded how odd or outlandish his opinions might be.

There had been some trouble this morning. The story, once leaked, had spread like fire. Apparently, Chancellor Toranim had been attacked and one of the noble leaders killed. No one was sure what this meant but a common rumor hinted that both sides had sent out assassins with the king’s proving more adept than those of his enemies. There was also much talk about the upcoming royal nuptials. Opinion was divided about the new queen, especially since she had such strong ties to Obis, but everyone agreed she was beautiful and it was past time Azarak produced an heir of his blood.

Any consideration Sorial might have entertained about arriving unannounced at the palace gates and requesting an audience was dismissed by the news of the attack. Without the influence of a highly placed person, Sorial’s only avenue past the army of guards to the king would be to use magic - something he didn’t want to do. The image of him, clothed only in dirt as he emerged through the floor, wouldn’t be one to inspire bards. It might also get him feathered with arrows before he could identify himself.

For a noble, Duke Carannan had a modest abode, although it dwarfed even a large inn. Nevertheless, despite its significant size - thirty rooms over three floors - it was simply constructed with few of the flourishes favored by those who flaunted their wealth in the outward appearance of their home. Walls of the smoothest white reflected the midday sunlight with blinding intensity. The roof was constructed with overlapping red clay tiles and the front door was made of iron-bound wood. There were no frescos, no gargoyles, no impossibly endowed nude statues. The guards’ barracks and stable, both separate buildings located a goodly distance from the main house, were more simply made with conventional wooden walls and thatched roofs. The once-grand gardens surrounding the house had fallen victim to the inconsistent weather; only the heartiest plants thrived and those would die of heat and lack of water by mid-Planting unless a way could be found to blunt the drought and cool the air. Sorial continued to mull over ideas; it would likely be the first task assigned to him in his new position. It was one thing to have reasoned out how the heat wave was maintained but another to determine how to dissipate it. Fire and air were feeding and sustaining it. What could earth do to interrupt the flow?

He was a distance from the house when two armed guards approached, motioning for him to stop. He complied, assuming an unthreatening position by dropping his right arm by his side and keeping the stump of his left concealed under his cloak. He had no wish to advertise his infirmity.

“By the gods!” exclaimed one of the guards as they came close enough to identify him. “Sorial!” They sheathed their weapons and rushed forward to clap him on the back and shake his hand. He knew them immediately: Rotgut and Samir, two of the men he had served alongside during his period as a member of the militia. One reason for choosing Carannan as his means of access to the king was that he knew he would have no problem obtaining an audience with the duke. He was known, respected, and liked here. And Carannan knew his secret and the mission that had taken him away from the city. He would be eager for a meeting.

“Where’ve you been, lad?” asked Rotgut, a grizzled trooper thrice Sorial’s age. A veteran of numerous campaigns in the North, he was one of the few guards who had been blooded before the night of the assassins’ attack.

Samir, much younger than his compatriot, added, “We’ve heard all sorts of rumors. Vagrum said you went on some special mission for the king then he disappeared and we assumed he went along and joined up with you.”

Vagrum gone? Had something happened between him and Alicia? He couldn’t imagine any circumstances that would cause the big man to leave his beloved charge behind.

Sorial probed a little more about Vagrum, but neither guard knew much. One day, less than midway through Harvest, he had vanished and no one had seen or heard from him since. That made sense if it had been a secret mission but the duke’s position was that Vagrum was no longer in his employ. The guards didn’t know if he had moved into the temple to be closer to Alicia or whether he was now working for her personally. 

Sorial made the necessary small talk with the two men before asking to see the duke. Neither found anything surprising in the request, although they joked about Sorial’s rough garb. If either noticed his missing hand, they didn’t mention it.

Once inside the mansion, Sorial was asked to wait while the two went in search of Carannan. The receiving room in which he waited was decorated using different shades of blue with tapestries that depicted waterscapes, cerulean drapes that would soon be drawn to shut out the brightness of the morning sun, and expensive rugs of a darker hue. Despite having spent a year and a half in the duke’s employ, Sorial had only been in this chamber once: on his Maturity Day, when Alicia had presented him with the most valuable thing he had ever owned - a beautifully crafted dagger. It had been made to her specifications and purchased using a considerable sum of her personal fortune. He wondered where it was now. Somewhere in Havenham, he assumed. It had been taken from him by his captors. During his lifetime, he had owned few items of personal property; that was perhaps the only one he had regretted losing. On the long trip into The Forbidden Lands, having it with him had been like having a piece of her along.

Carannan burst into the room through the door opposite the one Sorial had used for his entry. A handsome man in his early forties, he was already dressed and groomed with his dark hair pulled back tightly into a tail, indicating he had been up for some time - unusual for nobles, who often lounged in bed until midmorning. But, as Sorial remembered, the duke had always been an early riser. There were times when he had stopped by the barracks for an inspection shortly after sunrise.

“Sorial!” he exclaimed, his green eyes - twins to his daughter’s - alight with joy. His expression was of mixed wonderment and something else. Trepidation? He crossed the room in three strides and wrapped Sorial in a hug. Yet, although the welcome displayed genuine enthusiasm, there was an element of reticence, as well. All was not as it seemed. The undercurrent made Sorial uneasy.

When Sorial returned the embrace with only one arm, Carannan noticed the stump. “Warburm mentioned it. Does it...?”

“Hurt? No. But it’s strange. I sometimes forget it isn’t there. It’s an odd thing not to have a hand I lived 17 years with. It’s more inconvenient than anything else.”

The duke stepped back and examined Sorial critically, much as a man might consider a horse he was about to purchase. “Your body bears the scars of an ordeal. Does Warburm speak truly? Did you go through the portal?”

“I did. I’ve become what so many wished. I’m prepared to use my magic aiding and defending Vantok as soon as my marriage with Alicia is officially recognized. How is she?”

Carannan’s face clouded and he paused before answering. When he did, his words were chosen with care. “When last I saw her, she was fine. Angry at being left behind and worried. She believed you would die if you attempted the portal. She’s in Ferguson’s care.”

“When you
last
saw her? When was that?” demanded Sorial. He could read the negative cues in Carannan’s manner and speech.

Carannan sighed. “Not since a few days after you left. There are things you need to know, but you must hear them from the king. It’s not my place to speak of them.”

Anxiety twisted Sorial’s gut - a fear of the one unthinkable thing that would render all he had suffered moot. He nearly choked on the words, but managed to ask the question. “Is Alicia alive?”

“Yes! I have assurances from Ferguson that she’s hale. But I haven’t seen her for eleven weeks.”

This wasn’t good, but it could have been worse. The dots connected, although Sorial wasn’t sure where they led. Carannan not having seen Alicia for nearly a season. Vagrum missing for about the same amount of time. And Rexall having left The Wayfarer’s Comfort... He was certain there was a connection, but what was it?

He curbed his frustration with some difficulty. “I came to you because I need an audience with the king. He holds you in high regard, so I was hoping...”

“Done,” said Carannan. “Even in these circumstances, I can get you into a private audience with King Azarak in less than an hour. He’s been awaiting your arrival. We all have since Warburm told us of your success. But perhaps a change of clothes first?”

Sorial wasn’t in a position to disagree. Although he was impatient to depart for the palace, he recognized the importance of a noble’s clothing to deflect difficult-to-answer questions. He nodded his assent and pondered the answer to the question of what could have happened to cause Alicia, Vagrum, and Rexall to go missing only a week after he had departed for The Forbidden Lands. Nothing Ferguson said could be trusted, and that meant Alicia might be far from “hale.” And if she was injured or dead... Sorial had learned a few things from Langashin he might be willing to put to use.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE BROKEN COVENANT

Sorial was surprised at how little effort was required for Carannan to pass him through the various checkpoints at the palace and acquire an escort to the private audience chamber while the king was informed of his presence. The duke sat in quiet contemplation next to him at the large table that dominated the room. This was the place where Sorial had met with King Azarak before departing for The Forbidden Lands. At that time, he had been here as a peasant doing the bidding of his liege. Now, he came as an equal. It was best that was made clear from the beginning.

Nothing more had been said about Alicia during the short journey to the palace. The subject discomfited the duke; it was clear he knew more than he was saying but was constrained from revealing it. Sorial instinctively recognized that wasn’t a good sign. He didn’t expect the worst, but it had to be pretty bad if only the king could divulge the information. Sorial wondered who beyond Rexall, Vagrum, and Alicia might be missing.

Neither Carannan nor Sorial accepted the goblet of wine that was offered to all the king’s guests. They sat in silence, staring at the door as if willing Vantok’s ruler to appear. When he entered, it was less than ten minutes since Sorial’s arrival at the palace but it seemed much longer.

The king, looking wearier than Sorial remembered, entered in the company of a radiant young woman. This must be Princess Myselene, the beauty from the North who had tongues wagging throughout Vantok. Alicia was the most beautiful girl Sorial had known, but Myselene came a close second. Even without considering her connections, he could understand why the king might consider her for his queen after refusing so many other eligible hopefuls.

Carannan rose and executed a deep bow. Belatedly, Sorial followed suit, but his salutation was perfunctory and not remotely courtly. He had little time or patience for etiquette in this situation. He had been raised in a stable with mice and horses where such things had little meaning.

As Azarak took his seat, he gestured for Sorial and Carannan to retake theirs. Myselene, wearing an unforced smile, stood slightly behind and to one side of her future husband’s chair. It was the perfect position of subservience, but Sorial saw nothing in her demeanor or bearing that hinted at her being anything less than an equal. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t already have Azarak’s full trust.

The king spoke first. “I regret that Chancellor Toranim will be unable to join us. As I’m sure you’ve heard, he was the victim of an attack yesterday morning and is still recovering. He isn’t aware this meeting is taking place; had he been informed, he would have insisted on being present even though the healer has recommended a period of three days before resuming his duties.”

His attention fully on Sorial, he continued, “Words can’t express how thankful I am that you survived your ordeal. Not only have you proven that we live in an age when magic is no longer a thing of myth, but you’ve given us hope for the future.” The words were gracious but there was a lack of conviction in them. Sorial sensed the same ambivalence he had felt upon first greeting Carannan at his mansion. Something was wrong.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I did what I had to and came back to Vantok to fulfill the covenant. I’ll be the city’s wizard provided certain promises are kept, the first being marriage to the Lady Alicia.”

Silence, brief but telling, ensued. Surprisingly, it was Myselene who broke it. “The wedding will be conducted as soon as possible, but it can’t be immediately. The Lady Alicia isn’t in Vantok.”

“Not in Vantok?” echoed Sorial, knowing he sounded like a dullard for repeating the princess’ words.

This time, Azarak spoke. “She escaped from the temple a week after you left and, in the company of several others, left the city, probably to search for you. She was aided by her personal guardian, Vagrum, and by a man called Rexall, who I believe is known to you. At some point, she was joined by your mother. They went north, mistakenly believing that was the direction in which you had traveled.”

The revelation, although by no means a good thing, wasn’t surprising. It was the kind of thing Sorial had come to expect from Alicia. They had spoken of patience but he knew she wasn’t the kind to sit idly while events whirled around her. Still, contemplating a rash action and doing it were two different things. Even with Vagrum and Rexall’s help, it seemed inconceivable that Alicia could slip out of the temple and away from the city without being apprehended by a priest or guard. This situation didn’t speak well of the competence of those in whose hands the safety of Vantok rested. If they couldn’t contain one spirited girl...

“Where is she now?” asked Sorial.

Azarak cleared his throat. “We don’t know. We have reports that she and her companions were traveling north toward The Broken Crags but we haven’t had a confirmed sighting for weeks. We believe she’s headed for the ruins of the ancient city of Ibitsal.”

Of course. Ibitsal, where my brother met his end
. Alicia was using Kara as a guide, and Kara knew only of the portal where her son had been lost. So they were inadvertently going in the wrong direction. But if Azarak knew their destination, why hadn’t he located and retrieved them?

“There’s more to this,” the king said. “What I say now is supposition, but it’s strong enough supposition that I don’t fear giving voice to it. I don’t believe the Lady Alicia’s ‘escape’ was as fortuitous as it might seem. Prelate Ferguson holds the temple’s security in a tight grasp. No one gets in or out without his sufferance. The only conclusion that makes sense is that he permitted the Lady Alicia to slip out of the temple and leave Vantok, and his agents have been actively foiling the attempts of my men to locate her. He wants her to reach Ibitsal. He could have had her brought back at any time but instead he’s provided covert assistance to help her reach her destination.”

“Why would he want her there? To make sure she was far away from me?” It made no sense. To ensure that Alicia wouldn’t track down Sorial before his encounter with the portal, all Ferguson had to do was keep her confined in the temple. Why go through such an elaborate sham?

Azarak took a deep breath, almost as if he was summoning the courage to say the next part. “It’s our belief - or at least that of myself, Myselene, and Toranim - that Ferguson intends to send the Lady Alicia through the Ibitsal portal. We’ve seen the records of her family history, provided by Duke Carannan, and her lineage is strongly connected to the wizards of old. Not as strongly as yours, but strong enough that she could provide a valuable second option. The prelate is intent, even after learning of your success, to put the option to the test. He’s come to believe in his own infallibility; he sees only success and doesn’t consider the price of failure.”

Sorial was horrified - so horrified he couldn’t find his voice. His mind reeled. Alicia missing was bad enough. Alicia suffering on a long journey into the cold, brutal North was hard to comprehend. But Alicia being tricked into facing a portal? If he was to lose her that way, he would never be able to forgive himself or the ones who had allowed this to happen. Ferguson…
again!
How could he have so badly underestimated the man’s sense of divine entitlement and self-righteousness, especially when his very existence was a product of it?

“Having achieved his life’s ambition, the successful ‘creation’ of a wizard, he could have retired, but he’s so consumed with his supposed last mandate from the gods that instead of calling back Alicia, he intends to risk her. Because to him, it’s no risk at all.”

“Summon him here. Now.” Sorial’s voice was as cold as rock. Emotions surged within him. There was anger to be sure, but what he felt most forcefully was fear. Fear that, if he hadn’t already lost Alicia, he was about to lose her. If there had been any point, Sorial would have prayed. Dropped to his knees and begged the gods to spare her. But it would be useless. His existence was proof that the gods were no more. They could no more answer his prayer than they could hear it.

If any in the room was shocked at the effrontery of Sorial’s demand - a commoner issuing an order to a king - they didn’t show it. After all, Sorial was no mere peasant and they had realized it would come to something like this if he arrived before they retrieved Alicia. Unintentional as it may have been, they had broken faith with Sorial. He had expected to find his bride safe and waiting, but that wasn’t the situation.

“He’ll refuse the summons. I’ve issued a warrant for his arrest on charges of treason and he won’t leave the temple to face those charges. He knows it would be political suicide for me to attempt an incursion into the temple to retrieve him.”

“I don’t care about your petty squabbles. I want to see him. Immediately. Send a message and let him know that if he don’t meet with me before noon, I’ll take his temple apart stone by stone to get to him. And don’t doubt I can do it.” For The Lord of Earth, it would be child’s play.

“I don’t, but he might.”

“Then convince him.
Make
him understand. You’re the king.”

Azarak rose and departed silently, leaving Sorial and Carannan alone with Myselene. With the king gone, she took the seat across from them. Sorial studied her carefully. Her face was composed but he could see something in her eyes that betrayed an inner anxiety.

“His Majesty has done everything in his power to locate and retrieve the Lady Alicia but Prelate Ferguson has been uncooperative. He no longer believes he and his followers are under secular control and he’s indicated that the Temple has jurisdiction in all matters related to wizards. This has caused the king many sleepless nights.”

“I don’t doubt you, Your Highness.” He assumed that was the correct form of address for her current rank. “Because he’s Vantok’s ruler, I hold King Azarak responsible for Alicia’s safety. For Ferguson, this is just another crime to add to a long list of sins.”

“If she’s in the North... if there’s any aid Obis can provide...”

Sorial smiled but there was little warmth in his expression. “Thanks for the offer but I can reach Ibitsal ten times sooner than your fastest bird.”

“I’m sorry. I should have realized that with your... capabilities... the situation would be different.”

“My abilities only have value if Alicia is alive and unharmed. I can’t raise the dead or heal injuries.” Sorial pushed aside the voluminous cloak Carannan had provided so she could see the stump.

Myselene didn’t flinch at the sight; she merely nodded. “I know this isn’t the homecoming you envisioned. I wanted to spend time with the Lady Alicia during your absence. I hoped that, because she and I are close in age, we might become friends. I’ve been led to believe she grew up without many female companions. But she left before I could meet her. I can understand how the temple would have seemed more like a prison than a home.”

Sorial was tempted to respond that she never should have been housed in the temple but the location hadn’t seemed objectionable during the three seasons before he had departed for The Forbidden Lands. Sorial inwardly cursed himself. He had been foolish enough to believe Alicia safe in the prelate’s care. If he had suspected, he never would have dallied so long in the Deep South.

A lengthy period of silence followed. As it was becoming uncomfortable, Azarak returned. “He’s agreed to meet but on his terms. I may not accompany you. In fact, you must go alone. He’ll meet you in the temple within the hour. He asks that you present yourself at the main entrance. You’ll then be escorted to a room where he’ll receive you.”

Sorial bit back an angry reply. Ferguson was in no position to be issuing terms, but had he really expected anything else?
He thinks himself to be invulnerable, untouchable. He’ll learn otherwise
. “Fine. But not alone. I need one companion.”

Azarak shrugged. “If I or any of my close associates were to accompany you, we wouldn’t be permitted inside. Even Carannan, despite his past dealings with Ferguson, would likely be turned away.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Carannan. I was thinking of Warburm. I don’t need anyone to defend me; I can do that myself, even with only one arm. But I want to know who’s more responsible for the sins they’ve committed together and who will pay the dearer price for their crimes.”

“I’ll send a messenger to inform the Prelate that Warburm will be with you, and I’ll summon a guard to fetch the innkeeper.”

* * *

Sorial and Warburm had been waiting for the better part of an hour in a dank, windowless chamber that was as cheery as a converted dungeon cell. The walls and floor were solid stone and the grim tapestries did little to lighten the atmosphere with their depictions of gruesome events from the world’s history rendered in dark reds and browns. One wall was dominated by a huge fireplace that looked not to have been used in many a season. Two smoky, guttering torches provided scant illumination. Warburm had settled his considerable bulk in a too-small wooden chair provided for him, but Sorial remained standing. Two silent priests, their faces shadowed by cowls, stood like statues to either side of the closed door, presumably to keep the visitors from wandering from the designated meeting room. Sorial paid them little heed. They were unimportant; if he needed or wanted to leave, they wouldn’t be able to stop him.