The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (17 page)

The urge to strike down Ferguson for a second time was almost too powerful to resist. But Sorial knew that if he hit the prelate again, it wouldn’t stop with a single blow. He would continue until there was nothing left but a bloody husk. And that wouldn’t serve anyone: not himself, not Alicia, and certainly not Annie.

He closed his eyes for a moment, seeking calm. He drew on the cold impassivity of the earth below and allowed it to flow into his veins. The hurt and rage receded. Not gone, but bearable. One concern was paramount. All other issues would wait.

“I’ll go to Ibitsal. Pray to your dead gods, Prelate, that Alicia ain’t joined them, or the next time we meet will be the last. For now, you’ll leave this temple where you hide like a rat in a maze and hand yourself over to the king. You’ll submit to his justice and accept whatever punishment he decrees. The gods ain’t no more; there’s only secular law. You’ve broken that law and will answer for it. When I return, there will be a reckoning between us.”

Ferguson executed a bow as deep and courtly as the one with which he previously favored Sorial. “As Your Magus commands.”

Sorial turned to the innkeeper, who had been standing by his side silently during the exchange. “Warburm, bring the prelate to the palace. He’s yours until the king takes charge of him. You’re responsible for him; if he escapes or don’t reach the palace, you’ll answer for his crimes in his stead.”

Warburm blanched at that and the sight cheered Sorial. It confirmed that the innkeeper was more afraid of him than of Ferguson. He continued, “If you give him to the king, I’ll pardon you for your involvement in his schemes. Ferguson accused me of ‘dwelling overmuch on the past.’ Now you got a chance not to make the same mistake. You can reject your past master and align with a new one. Or you can stay loyal to one who deserves no loyalty and share his fate. The choice is yours.”

Sorial didn’t remain to learn Warburm’s decision. He would find out when he returned. Actions, not words, counted. For Sorial, that meant finding an open space, calling his rock wyrm, and traveling as fast to Alicia as was possible. And hoping against hope that she didn’t hear the call of the portal.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: AN ARMY AT IBITSAL

It wasn’t actually an army, not in the conventional sense. Or at least that’s what Aiden assured Alicia. There were about a thousand men and the loose nature of their organization indicated they were most likely a collection of mercenaries and local tribesman brought together by some common cause. They would be tough in a fight but no match for an ordered, modestly-sized militia. Unfortunately, Alicia’s group wasn’t accompanied by a militia of any size.

Although the army’s purpose was unclear, there was no ambiguity about it being focused on Ibitsal. The campsite ringed the ruins; there was no way in or out of the ancient city without passing through the perimeter. Had Ibitsal been occupied, it might have been a siege. With such a large area to cover, the troops were spread thin, dispersed over a swath of cleared ground 400 feet across between the debris and the encroaching forest. It was Aiden’s guess that, under cover of darkness, they should be able to slip unnoticed into the city. There was no indication the men had entered the ruins; perhaps the rumors of its haunting held them back.

The command tent wasn’t hard to identify; it was larger than any of the camp’s other impermanent structures. Pitched not far from the crumbling remnants of Ibitsal’s walls, it was given a wide berth by all except those who had business within. Aiden estimated the army had a long-term purpose in the area. It had taken a great deal of manpower to clear away so many trees from the immediate environs, pushing back the forest and the cover it offered. They had been here for at least a season and showed no indication of imminent departure. Why they were here, in the middle of a forsaken wilderness encircling a dead and reportedly haunted city, was a question he couldn’t answer.

Comecomecome
, sang the portal.

Alicia did her best to ignore it as she observed the camp and the ruins from the vantage point of a barren hilltop. Like the others, she was on her belly. Lying as they were, it was unlikely they would be spotted but they were close enough to the outer patrols that there was an element of danger. The bright white sky behind them provided the perfect backdrop against which a silhouette could be seen. They had to remain still and low; any hope of advancing to the portal during the day was gone, but they had known that the night before. Aiden and his two juniors from Sussaman had spent the better part of the morning scouting. They had found weaknesses in the ring where there were fewer men but no true breaks. No matter what route they chose to approach the city, it would necessitate stealth - avoiding patrols, keeping away from camp fires, and negotiating the crumbled wreckage of Ibitsal’s walls in pitch darkness. The prospects were not appealing but their necessity was undeniable. The alternatives, turning back or surrendering to the army and hoping the leader would allow them to pass, weren’t viable.

Ibitsal’s remains didn’t impress Alicia. Even when it had stood, the first of the great settlements north of The Broken Crags hadn’t awed visitors. As with all the northern habitations, it had been built for function with little concern for aesthetics. Its purpose all those years ago had been to provide shelter for its inhabitants from the heavy snows and wild animals of the North. Trade had been a secondary concern and tourism not one at all. Those who came to the northern cities did so for a reason, not because they were drawn by the word pictures painted by balladeers. From a distance, Vantok was beautiful. Even had it been intact and in good repair, Ibitsal would never have warranted such a description. Syre, the nearest city still standing, had gorgeous women but ugly buildings. Ibitsal’s construction hadn’t been significantly different.

With no inhabitants to chink walls and mend roofs, Ibitsal had collapsed into a pile of broken stones, sawdust, and crumbled clay. There was, however, a single building that appeared to have survived the centuries of neglect. The sturdy tower stood straight and tall, rising like an accusing finger pointed at the heavens. Its spire had long since toppled but the remainder was unbroken. Alicia didn’t need to be told it was their destination. The call that lured her like the seductive whisper of a siren originated from within those walls.

By mid-afternoon, they had retreated back to their own simple campsite, which was located a sufficient distance from the ruins that an accidental discovery by the army was unlikely. From their morning observations, it didn’t seem the patrols ranged beyond the clearing so, unless they became careless, they should be safe here in the short-term.

“Does it make sense to go to the ruins? Couldn’t we accomplish our goal from here, observing Ibitsal from this vantage?” asked Aiden. As usual, his query was directed to Kara. And, as usual, she deferred to Alicia.

“We haven’t come all this way to be thwarted. The ruins cover a large enough area that once we get to them, we should be able to stay out of sight.” Alicia knew Sorial would find a way past the army. She wondered whether its goal was to keep people out of the city or to prevent someone, or something, from leaving it.

“We can’t bring the horses,” said Aiden. “That complicates matters. Without the provisions they carry, we’re left with what we can bear. Water isn’t a problem. There’s ice and snow aplenty to melt. But unless we’re going to rob the soldiers, don’t expect solid food, unless you plan to eat mice and rats.” That observation provoked a visible shudder from Alicia. “And there’s the question of what you want to do with the animals. Tied up, they’ll be okay for a short while, but they have little enough to eat and, after a time, they’ll starve. Let them roam free and they might survive long enough to be captured by someone, but we’ll never see them again.”

“Aiden, how much can we carry?” asked Kara.

“If we pack only provisions and other necessities and keep the sacks light, maybe enough for four or five days. A week to ten days if we ration. That assumes we’re able to retrieve the rest of the food from a hiding place when we leave. It’s four days by foot to the next settlement and ten days to Syre.”

A week. That’s how long they had to wait for Sorial. It seemed such a small window but, even with the horses, their provisions were finite. They had never expected to be at Ibitsal for much longer than that. As the putative leader of an expedition like this, Alicia felt inadequate. But the decisions were ultimately hers. They would move forward or turn back at her word. She gave the orders, knowing they would be followed regardless of any private reservations the others might have. “Let’s get ready. We’ll get as close to their camp as is safe during daylight, then cross after midnight, when most of them are asleep. Before we leave, we’ll bury what we can’t bring with us and untether the horses.”

* * *

Had it been a cloudless night, they would have been able to gauge the passage of midnight but, without the stars, the best they could do was to estimate the time by the activity level of the camp. Once the post-supper rowdiness had diminished and the men took to their bedrolls for however much sleep their commander allowed, Alicia’s group departed their hiding place in a copse. The darkness embraced them like an unwanted lover, close and oppressive. The army’s intermittently spaced fires were beacons lighting the way, but they had no means to identify snares or traps that might have been set around the camp’s perimeter. They advanced at a pace so slow that Alicia wondered if they would cover enough ground before dawn, even as late as it came during this season in this part of the world. Her calves ached from the effort of taking such small, tightly controlled steps.

They were emerging from the northeast into an area where the distance between the edge of the forest and the walls’ remains was at its narrowest. There were fewer men here than at other locations around the city, but “fewer” did not equate to “none.” At least four campfires with ten to twenty men each would have to be avoided. An easy enough trick if they had been able to see properly, but in the flickering dimness of the night... At least the impediment was mutual.

They crept forward, alert for signs of danger. Movement became easier as they drew closer to the outermost fires; the illumination allowed them to press on with more assurance. From here, Ibitsal’s ruins were invisible, but they had memorized the city’s location in relation to the most distant fire. They knew the location of their goal. Now it was a matter of reaching it without alerting anyone to their presence. The Stygian darkness of the forest was no longer their companion; it had been replaced by something of a more imperfect kind, filled with grotesquely capering shadows spawned by the flames.

Comecomecome
.

The call of the portal was no more urgent but its proximity made the prompting more difficult to resist. It was comforting and soothing but it interfered with Alicia’s concentration at a time when she could ill afford a lapse. On more than one occasion, it nearly caused her to misstep.

They angled their path to move between a pair of fires at a distance of about seventy feet on either side. The forest gradually receded behind them, the prospects of cover and safety dwindling with it: twenty feet, thirty feet, forty feet... Alicia could see men lying on their backs in the open, some under threadbare blankets and some with no covering, all far enough from the blazes to avoid falling victim to flying embers yet close enough to gain some benefit from the warmth. In the flickering of the flames, she counted sixteen men to the left and twelve to the right, all apparently deep in slumber. The camp was quiet - almost
too
quiet. The bawdy, half-drunken singing had stopped more than an hour ago as men began to retire for the night but there were none of the telltale signs she expected to hear even in the dead of night where so many were gathered: no clanking of armor, no grinding of blades being sharpened, no whistling or humming. Straining her eyes in the near darkness, she saw no evidence of lanterns, torches, or other moving sources of illumination, either near or in the distance. Shouldn’t there be patrols, men walking the perimeter? She wanted to ask Aiden this question, but even a whisper would be as loud as a shout when it came to giving them away.

Her misgivings were well-founded. As they came abreast of the outer fires, the camp sprang to life. It happened so fast, Alicia was momentarily confused by the flurry of activity. All the supposedly “sleeping” men around the closest fires were on their feet with weapons drawn as others in the distance also rose. It was as if the entire camp had been awaiting some prearranged signal.

Namany and Debulon froze, dropped into fighting crouches, and drew knives that seemed painfully inadequate when compared to the blades brandished by the soldiers. The idea of fighting was ludicrous. They were outnumbered by one thousand to six and only four of them could claim any degree of competence with a weapon.

“Drop yer weapons and we’ll take ya unharmed. We got no need to cut down ones such as yerselves.” The voice was gruff and heavily accented. Alicia didn’t know who spoke. The night seemed alive with men, all menacing, all converging on her group. Imitating Kara, she dropped her hands palms forward by her sides and did her best to look non-threatening - not a difficult thing to accomplish in the circumstances. She was reasonably certain she looked like a little girl.

“Do as he says, boys,” said Aiden, throwing down his cudgel. At his command, Namany and Debulon released their daggers. Rexall had already tossed down two short blades and was standing with his hands above his head in the universal gesture of surrender.

“Check ’em out!” demanded the voice, apparently that of a leader. A man moved out of the shadows to pat down Alicia roughly, divesting her of her heavy fur cloak to ensure she wasn’t hiding anything under it, then his hands lingered longer than was necessary on her breasts and between her legs. He smelled of sour sweat and stale ale and she nearly gagged at the stench as he got close to her. When he was done “searching” her, her arms were jerked roughly behind her back and a cord was tied around her wrists. A foul-smelling hood was pulled over her head and cinched at her neck, although not so tightly that she couldn’t breathe.

“Take ’em to see His Lairdship. He’s bin waitin’ fer ’em.”

* * *

Alicia’s arms were cramping. She was allowed to sit but the uncomfortable position of her bound wrists was causing pain. She was breathing through her mouth to avoid inhaling the odor of the sack placed over her head. It smelled of something rotten - either onions or potatoes. She assumed it had been used to transport spoiled provisions.

She didn’t know where she was and talking wasn’t permitted. The one time she had tried to say something, she had been cuffed so hard on the side of the head that she had nearly passed out. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so, meaning she was close to a fire. Voices spoke in hushed tones nearby. She supposed if she concentrated, she might be able to make out the words, although there was no guarantee she would understand the language. But the call of the portal made concentration difficult.

After her capture, she had been half-pushed, half-dragged across a wide swath of the camp, zigzagging through areas that were muddy and patches of ice that hadn’t been chewed up by the relentless march of boots. She didn’t know what had happened to the others; they might be next to her or nowhere close. They could be living or dead. It was too much to hope they had been released. She suspected she was in the command tent. The air was stale and close and she was sitting on furs not hard ground.