The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (25 page)

As it reached skyward, the “ooh”s and “ah”s began. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet it climbed, towering above the tallest structure in the city by threefold, until the height exceeded the diameter of the roughly circular base. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred feet. Sorial was beginning to feel sluggish and fatigued, like after a long, full day mucking stalls, except it wasn’t only his arms that were leaden but his entire being. He shifted more of the burden to the rock wyrm, which moved with alacrity gathering material and forcing it upward, where Sorial claimed it and molded it. Seven hundred, eight hundred, nine hundred feet. Sorial’s breath was becoming labored, as if he had run a long, hard race. The point of collapse wasn’t far; he had reached the limits of his endurance. It was time to end the demonstration. When the cone-shaped column, which tapered from three hundred feet across at the base to a mere forty at its apex, had reached one thousand feet, Sorial stopped its growth. The result was pure spectacle: to prove himself, The Lord of Earth had built a small mountain. Mount Vantok.

At that moment, as he was taking a few seconds’ pause to regain his strength and admire his work like everyone else, he was knocked off his feet by a sharp blow to his chest. Burning pain and pressure exploded beneath his left nipple. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe at all. He looked down in bewilderment to see the brightly colored fletching of an arrow embedded in his breast. His light blue tunic was changing color as a flower-like crimson stain blossomed around the point of entry. Sorial gasped once, a hoarse, ragged sound then coughed up sputum and blood. His vision swam and a suffocating blackness rushed in. His last thought before it crushed him was that even a wizard, with all his powers, could be cut down by an expert archer.

* * *

Ariel grudgingly admitted that her brother had done a good job with his demonstration. It didn’t really look like a mountain. It looked more like something a child might construct out of mud and sticks, magnified several hundredfold. It would make a bold and lasting testament to his brief tenure as a wizard. She would ask Justin to allow it to stand as a monument to Sorial when he took the city.

Ariel didn’t linger after she saw Sorial fall. The arrow, fired by a member of one of the nobles’ militias and guided by invisible strands of air, hit him either in the heart or very near to it. He collapsed, possibly dead before his body hit the walkway. No one could survive a direct hit with that much force behind it. As she moved swiftly away from the palace, the crowd surged around her, men jumping on the fool who had fired the arrow to tear him to pieces. His death would be ugly, but Ariel felt no sympathy. In fact, without her aid, he wouldn’t have come close to reaching his target. Not only would his arrow have been dozens of feet wide of the mark, but it would have fallen fifty feet short of the gates, probably killing someone in the crowd. But none of that mattered. Once the arrow left the bow, Ariel had commandeered it. The archer died thinking himself a hero: the man who brought down the wizard-pretender. Fool.

Now, with Sorial dead, it was time to return to Justin and bask in her triumph. Despite any lingering sadness about her brother’s demise, she felt more confident than she had in many weeks. Leaving the city in chaos behind her, she took to the air and headed toward The Forbidden Lands.

CHAPTER TWENTY: UNION OF EQUALS

He wasn’t dead. He processed that fact with some surprise. When unconsciousness had claimed him, he hadn’t expected to awaken. He couldn’t say whether his had been a good life or not, but to go out after being shot by an arrow while making a demonstration fell short of a heroic end. Apparently, however, it wasn’t over. Somehow, he had found a way to cheat death again. It was becoming habitual.

There was no pain. On those two occasions when he had awakened in The Wayfarer’s Comfort after being attacked in the stable, there had been considerable discomfort. When consciousness had reclaimed him in Langashin’s dungeon, his companions had been unceasing agony and a missing hand. But now, except for two patches of itchiness - just beneath his left breast and between his shoulder blades - nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Very strange. Not dead. Not even hurt. Maybe the gods were still out there watching over him. That or he was a very, very lucky man. Sorial didn’t trust luck; it was disloyal and could turn at any time.

He opened his eyes to find himself in perhaps the most lavish bedchamber he had ever set eyes upon. The canopied bed on which he lay was huge - so large that it had its own curtains (drawn back at the moment). He was surrounded by fluffy things - overstuffed pillows and a covering that was decadently soft. The floor was overspread with some kind of plush material that didn’t seem to be fur. Whatever it was, Sorial had never seen its like before. The walls were adorned from corner to corner with bright, lavish tapestries, many of which depicted men and women engaged in scandalous behavior (although a few of the more inventive positions gave Sorial ideas for future experimentation). The furnishings - several chairs, a desk, and a chest - were made of the finest wood and had been carved as much for appearance as for function.

Alicia was there, curled up like a cat in a chair pulled close to the bed. She was asleep, her legs tucked under her body and her chin resting on her chest. She was dressed in the same outfit she had worn during his demonstration, but the peach was stained by the reddish-brown of dried blood. There was also some on her hands and in her hair and a comma-shaped mark on her left cheek. His blood.
What the hell happened?

He examined himself as best he could. He was naked under the covering. There was neither blood nor a fresh wound. But a pinkish scar marked the spot where a gaping hole should have been. The itch on his back told him the arrow had gone all the way through. His training informed him that was a good thing since it would have made it easier to extract. He sat up. His skin had been scrubbed clean head-to-toe. His tunic and trousers were nowhere to be seen. Probably too bloody to be of future use. Had his magic somehow saved him?

“Good to see you awake, stableboy,” said Alicia, having been aroused from her nap by his movements. She stretched languorously, arms extended over her head.

“Good to be awake.”
And alive
.
And not in pain.

“We’re even. I admit I don’t like being in anyone’s debt, but I’d rather not have to repay it quite like that.”

Sorial’s expression revealed his confusion.

The teasing tone was gone when Alicia next spoke. “You almost died.” Her voice caught. “I thought I’d lost you. That arrow... impaled you. There was blood everywhere; you were barely breathing. Your skin, the white of death.” For a moment, she was lost in the horror of her memories.

“You did something.”

She nodded. “Did you know our bodies are made mostly of water? What I did, I did in desperation and by an instinct I don’t understand. My mind went
into
you. I was able to staunch blood and mend tissue - and there was a lot that needed mending. The arrow missed your heart by a fingerspan. It was almost like I was given a needle and thread. And when it was over, I had no clear idea what I’d done. But you weren’t bleeding, you were still breathing, and I was more tired than I’ve been since Ibitsal.”

“You healed me. A fatal wound and you cured it.” He had never imagined that the powers of water could be used in such a way. He needed to start thinking more imaginatively about magic. His mind was too literal; his approach too straightforward. Maybe that was what differentiated a great wizard from one who was merely good: creativity of thought and approach.

She managed a quip: “Try doing that with earth.”

“How long ago?”

“Yesterday. It’s early morning. You’ve been asleep about eighteen hours. You’re still pale but, other than that and a little scarring, which I couldn’t figure out how to remove, you seem fine. It only works with fresh injuries, though. While you were sleeping, I tried to see if there was anything I could do about your hand, but it resisted me. That stump is how your body thinks it’s supposed to be. It has no ‘memory’ of the hand being there.”

That might be true, but it didn’t explain why there were times when Sorial could almost feel the hand, as if it was still connected. It was sometimes maddening - an itch on a finger he couldn’t scratch. Other times, he’d reach to grab something with a hand that wasn’t there.

“This may be the first time in memory that I’m cleaner than you are.”

“That’s because I washed you myself and I do a thorough job. You need bathing lessons - there was dirt behind your ears and under your fingernails. Anyway, soaking you in water helped me confirm that the hasty work would hold up. I needed to be sure I hadn’t missed something and blood wasn’t leaking into your insides.”

“And?”

“You may feel some tightness in your chest or back when you exert yourself. The healing isn’t as robust as the original. But you’re alive, aren’t you?”

There was no denying that. In fact, he felt remarkably hale.

“Everyone saw it, didn’t they?”

Alicia nodded. “It was chaos. I was too busy saving you, so I don’t know firsthand, but there was a riot. The Watch was called in. The man who shot you, an archer for one of the nobles, was killed by a mob. The king issued a statement later in the day proclaiming that your magic had saved you and you were resting comfortably and would be able to resume your duties within a week. That calmed things. You’ll probably have to make a few appearances at court to prove to the doubters that you’re alive.”

“And now?”

“I need to take a bath and get some sleep. Don’t forget, we’re due to be married tomorrow. Don’t think a little thing like nearly dying is going to get you out of that.”

* * *

“Dead? Are you sure?” Justin’s voice betrayed his skepticism. Until Ariel had approached him with her news, he was uncertain as to whether she had it in her to kill the boy.

“I guided the arrow myself and saw it strike home. He fell immediately.” There was pride and satisfaction in her voice. A job well done. The first battle of the oncoming war won.

Something as taut as bowstring within Justin relaxed. Could it have been that easy? Had all his worries and contingencies been unnecessary? “I applaud you. By that one action, you’ve made our path easier. Now, we can replace Sorial as The Lord of Earth and, with him eliminated, I don’t have to face the efreet in single combat - something I was dreading. Now, if only we could identify a malleable candidate to be The Lord of Water...” Of course, it was damn hard to find anyone with magical potential, regardless of the element. Some of those Justin had felt confident about heard nothing when brought within range of the portal’s call. He had confirmed four: one earth, two fire, one air. There were other possibilities, but they were too young. As best he could tell, about one in every three thousand people had the innate capacity to be a wizard. Ferguson had found a way to shorten the odds considerably by studying and manipulating genealogies. Justin didn’t share that advantage. His methods were pure trial-and-error. And, in more than a decade of searching, there had been pitifully few successes.

“Our best opportunity may have been killed by influenza.”

“Huh?”

“According to my mother, one of the twins was fire, the other was water. Braddock died because you had already entered the portal, but Craddock never got a chance. He would have been The Lord of Water.”

“All four in one family? Amazing. If nothing else, Ferguson knows how to make wizards. Of course, if Craddock had lived, you might never have been born, and if you hadn’t run off, there would be no Sorial. One wonders why Ferguson wasn’t more aggressive in using Maraman and Kara to make more babies. He could have had a whole army of wizards-in-waiting, or at least as many as your mother could pop out during her child-bearing years.”

Ariel shrugged. “Maraman probably resisted. From what I know, he was always a prickly ally and my conception and Sorial’s happened under duress. But it hardly matters now. My mother is too old and my father is dead. With Sorial gone, I’m the last of their offspring, and I won’t have children. Their line ends with me.”

Justin said nothing but he regretted his past shortsightedness. If he had known how rich Ariel’s blood was when he had first met her, he could have used her to breed a new race of wizards, much as Ferguson had used her mother. They wouldn’t have been his children, but he could have found another Maraman. Now, it was pointless, Even if she consented to such a thing, it would be fifteen years at the earliest before a child was ready and everything would have long been decided. No, Justin needed someone who was ready for the portal
now
.

“Do you ever regret running away?” he asked, more out of idle curiosity than a genuine desire to know.

“Sometimes. But it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And when I entered the portal, I did it of my own volition, not because it was expected of me. Over the years, I’ve grown to despise Ferguson and all he stands for, but that anger never extended to my mother. I remember all the cold nights when she tucked me up in bed and made sure I had enough blankets. All my nights in Sussaman, she always kissed me on the forehead and told me how precious I was to her. She was affectionate in a way she never was with Braddock. I wonder what she was like with Sorial before Ferguson and his cronies forced her to abandon him.”

“I wish I had such fond memories of my mother. I don’t know whether she’s alive or dead but, if she’s still around, I hope she perishes in the coming war.” He remembered how effective his mother had been with a hot poker whenever he did something to displease her. He still bore some of the scars, although his affinity for fire had made the pain more bearable than it might otherwise have been.

“So what now? With Sorial dead?”

“Ferguson will have a contingency plan, someone waiting in the wings. Another potential Lord of Earth. We have to get our candidate through the portal before he implements it. Even now, he probably has a group riding hard for Ibitsal or Havenham.”

“There’s one curious thing. He wasn’t at Sorial’s demonstration. The king and queen-to-be were there, as was the slip of a girl my brother was supposed to marry, but no Ferguson. Strange that the architect would miss the validation of his life’s work.”

“Strange indeed. Maybe he was watching from the shadows. That’s where Ferguson likes to stand, just out of view. But find out what you can when you return to Vantok. I’ll be gone for the next few days. I have to send Yoel through the portal before Ferguson gets a chance to react. Riding hard, an armed party could reach Havenham from Vantok in less than a week.”

With a slight inclination of her hooded head, Ariel departed Justin’s tent as silently as she had entered. He sat back and considered. Sorial’s death changed everything for the better. No more hunting for an elusive wizard. No more contingency plans for facing one in battle. When it came to the conquest of Vantok, he doubted Yoel, thirteen years old and new to his powers, would be of much use, but the important thing was that Sorial wouldn’t be there to oppose him. He wouldn’t have to husband his magical resources. He could be aggressive with them, creating wide swaths of damage then letting his troops move in to mop up what was left of Vantok’s broken and demoralized army. That had been the original battle plan; it heartened him to know he would be able to implement it.

And he wouldn’t have to risk everything in a confrontation with the efreet. Truth be told, he was frightened of that battle because losing was a possibility. If there was any creature that could best him in combat, it was the djinns’ leader. Although the efreet was primarily a creature of fire, it had a lesser affinity for the other three elements and if it used those in an attack, Justin might not be able to counter it. Better to let the djinn continue as they were, heedless of the affairs of men.

At no point did Justin consider that Ariel’s information might not be reliable.

* * *

It was a tiny wedding for such dignified personages, with only friends and close family present. It took place in the small audience hall where Alicia’s betrothal had transpired only a year ago - a ceremony during which Sorial had sat in a depressed funk watching the woman he loved slip away from him. Now, he was about to marry that woman. He had changed more in one year than over the previous sixteen and one-half.

Tradition dictated that friends stand with the bride and groom before, during, and after the ceremony. This presented a problem for Sorial and Alicia, neither of whom had any close confederates within the city. Alicia’s sheltered upbringing had left her virtually friendless. The situation wasn’t much different for Sorial. At one point, Rexall might have filled the role, but the red-haired rogue was somewhere in the North and, even had he been within Vantok’s confines, Sorial wouldn’t have approached him. Duke Carannan had graciously requested the honor and Sorial had accepted. Alicia’s “second” was more august: Princess Myselene, who was using this as a first step in fulfilling her stated goal of getting to know the Wizard’s Bride better.