The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (28 page)

“The Lady of Air is my sister, Ariel. I’ve known for some time. She showed herself before I went to the portal, trying to warn me away. She said if I didn’t turn back she’d kill me. I think she’s tried. The arrow was fired by a mercenary with little training as an archer. He wouldn’t have been able to make such a long, accurate shot unless helped by the elements: a tail-wind to speed the shaft and air currents to guide its flight. That arrow was Ariel’s doing and she’ll try again. The Lord of Fire may be massing an army, but The Lady of Air is a more immediate threat. She’s acting the role of an assassin.”

There was silence for nearly a full minute before Toranim said, “According to Ferguson, all your siblings - two boys and one girl - are dead.”

“My brothers died, one of influenza and one at the Ibitsal portal. Ariel ran away before her Maturity, fearing what might happen if she tried to follow Braddock. Later, for reasons I don’t understand, she went on her own. Once she was transformed, she allied herself with The Lord of Fire, the only other wizard at the time.”

“We have to keep you safe. Put you someplace where they can’t get to you,” said Azarak.

“He controls fire and she controls air. Outside the deep underground, few places are entirely safe from them.
Awareness
is our greatest defense. That’s why I’m telling you this. It’s possible I ain’t her only target. They could gain a lot by assassinating a king, for example.”

Azarak nodded. “An unexplained attack on the chancellor created paranoia and chaos. How much more so if the king was murdered? Was that your sister’s work? And the murders that followed?”

“Possibly. Sowing mistrust. Widening cracks in the social order. She’s more prone to subtlety than spectacle. But we have our own weapon. Only those of us here know Alicia’s secret. It has to remain that way for the time being.” Sorial didn’t elaborate. There was no need; the other three understood and he didn’t want to reveal anything to ears that might be listening. Within the palace, even in a supposedly secure room, one would be a fool to assume complete privacy.

From there, the discussion progressed to other matters. When Azarak questioned Sorial about moderating the weather with the onset of Planting, the wizard admitted he had no good plan except perhaps to kill one of the opposing wizards. He and Alicia had discussed possibilities at length but even the best were imperfect and would demand huge expenditures of energy. Eliminating Ariel or The Lord of Fire seemed a more achievable solution.

“One thing you’ll learn, Sorial, is that the best solution isn’t always the most obvious one. I don’t know much about magic but I know people and the only way you’re going to beat these wizards is to do something unexpected. If it’s obvious, they’ll have thought of it and will be ready to counter it.”

“Any ideas?”

The ghost of a smile touched Azarak’s lips. “I think you mentioned something neither of our adversaries would be expecting. Take the fight to them. Go on the offensive. That might be radical enough to catch them off-guard. If you can’t figure out a way to counter the heat, cut it off at the source. But make no mistakes - that must be your first priority. It’s the first and most crucial move in our battle plan because, if this heat lasts into Summer, the city will roast.”

“One way or another, I’ll get it done.”

“I expect nothing less. Now, it appears you’ll have to meet Myselene’s esteemed father. He scoffs at the possibility that there’s a real wizard alive in our time. ‘Charlatan’ is one of the kinder words he used in reference to you.”

“Another demonstration?” Sorial sighed.

“A small one. No need to build another mountain.”

All part of life as a city wizard. Make the people believe. Put on a good show. And when it comes time to use real magic, how much will I have left?

“Opening a hole under him ain’t an option?”

Azarak chuckled, although Sorial noted a frosty expression on Myselene’s face. “Seems like a good way to handle rivals; I wish I had that capability. Ferguson would have disappeared long ago.”

“How is he adjusting to his new situation?”

“As well as can be expected. The Temple has yet to officially relieve him of his responsibilities, but that’s only a formality. Candidates are already vying for his position; they’re awaiting my endorsement. Ferguson endured his punishment with dignity. I didn’t watch but I’m told he only cried out once while being scourged and not at all when his small fingers were removed. He fainted when they were cauterized. Now he spends his days reading some of the most obscure and dense texts from the palace library. By all accounts, he’s a model prisoner, although he doesn’t engage in the customary small talk with the guards who watch his quarters.”

“I want to see him,” said Sorial. He didn’t relish the idea, but it needed to be done. Ferguson knew things that Sorial had to learn, especially if he was going to confront his sister and The Lord of Fire and defend Vantok from an attack. There was only so much he could accomplish blundering around on his own. Ferguson was alive because of the knowledge locked in his brain. Sorial intended to plunder that.

“Now?” asked Azarak.

“Now.”

* * *

The Ferguson who greeted Sorial didn’t look like the proud, arrogant man he had confronted in the temple on his initial return to Vantok. That person had been a larger-than-life figure whose form, like his features, defied age. This one was a stooped old man. With his scalp, chin, and mustache shaved of all but coarse stubble, Ferguson’s face resembled a wrinkled fruit; he looked every one of his nearly one-hundred years. His hands were bandaged to aid the healing of the still-raw injuries created by the removal of his fingers. The one thing that hadn’t changed, however, was his gaze. His eyes were as fierce and intense as ever.

“You honor me by your visit, Your Magus.” There was no hint of irony in his tone.

“Something of a comedown for the Temple’s prelate, ain’t it?” asked Sorial, his eyes taking in the Spartan nature of Ferguson’s quarters. They were clean and simple. The stale air smelled slightly of urine, probably the result of the chamber pot not being frequently emptied.

Ferguson shrugged. “My primary duty is done. There are four wizards. There can be no more until one dies. The obligation laid upon me by the gods is fulfilled.”

“Ariel’s ascension didn’t work the way you expected.”

“No,” conceded Ferguson. “She represents my most grievous miscalculation. I admit to surprise when you told me of her fate, but it doesn’t change what must happen. You and she can’t co-exist. You must kill her. As you must kill The Lord of Fire, whoever he is. Then, when they’re dead, you can replace them with men loyal to your way of thinking. Ultimately, the four wizards must be united in their goals and beliefs. I was unable to achieve that, but hopefully you’ll succeed where I failed. The duty now falls upon you. I offer whatever aid I can provide.”

Whatever aid I can provide
. This, from the man who had ordered Annie’s death and taken a gamble that could as easily have killed Alicia as elevated her to her current status as The Lady of Water. Now, he offered his assistance.

Ferguson’s voice turned hard at something he read in Sorial’s expression. “Don’t play the innocent with me, boy. You whine about what might have been but fail to consider what
is
. You and your beloved wife are wizards. Yes, people you care about have died, but that will always be the case. Would you rather be on the sidelines, sitting by powerless as The Lord of Fire storms in to sack the city? Would you rather be ground underfoot?  Would you rather you’d never met Alicia? Whether you admit it or not, Duke Sorial, your life is infinitely better because of my interference, yet you nurse your grievances like sacred treasures. I’ve given you power enough to fight for your city when the time comes. You can make a difference now and in the future. Sorial the wizard can influence history for the better. Sorial the stableboy would more than likely die under the boots of The Lord of Fire’s soldiers.”

An angry retort died on Sorial’s lips. As galling as it was to admit, Ferguson was right. Of course, it remained to be seen whether responsibility and power were more a blessing or a curse.

“You need me and you know it,” continued Ferguson. “That’s why I was given a gentle chastisement rather than a quick execution. What Azarak did, he did on your orders. Your ‘condition,’ I assume, for agreeing to serve Vantok. I congratulate you on your foresight. I know more about wizards and magic than you could ever hope to learn. I’ve spent years doing little more than studying in a musty library halfway around the world - a library built by the wizards of ancient times in a place they thought no one without magic would ever discover. You could scour every tome in Azarak’s library and only begin to scratch the surface of the repository of knowledge locked within my brain.”

“Can you teach me how to beat The Lord of Fire?”

“Such a prosaic question. Does the depth of your understanding run so shallow? No, I can’t teach you that any more than I can instruct you how to make love to your wife. Defeating him isn’t a matter of magic. It’s a matter of opportunity and strategy. You may use magic to do it, but you might as easily use a sword, an arrow, or a fist.”

“If you can’t answer a question like that, what help are you?”

“I can suggest names to replace him after you’ve killed him. More importantly, I can tell you what his ultimate goal is.”

“His aim is obvious: make war on Vantok.”

Ferguson sniffed derisively. “That would be the objective of a fool of limited vision, and The Lord of Fire is no fool. He’s a meticulous planner. He’ll make war on Vantok as a prelude to something grander. He’ll seek to unify men under one banner and gain control of all the wizards. From that power base, he’ll launch his assault on The Otherverse. If he achieves that aim, not even he will be able to predict the outcome. It’s not fire, air, water, and earth that form the building blocks of all things, but order and chaos. Even the four elements are comprised and fueled by those forces. They are the basis of
everything
and they can be accessed through The Otherverse. In the normal course of things, wizards touch them indirectly. The Lord of Fire seeks a direct connection. The only things stopping him are safeguards put into place by the gods and not even I know whether those will hold if he makes a concerted push.”

Sorial understood little of what Ferguson said, but he knew enough to recognize that there were grim implications. It no longer seemed this was just a battle for one city. He stood silently, waiting for Ferguson so say more. But the old man remained stubbornly silent.

“Is that it?”

“No. But it would be pointless for me to tell you things you wouldn’t understand. Ask me a
meaningful
question and I’ll answer it. Prove to me that you have enough knowledge for you to process the information I provide rather than classify it as meaningless gibberish. Do some research on your own. Earn the answers.”

More riddles. More damn riddles
. He felt the same frustration bubbling to the surface he had experienced every time he visited Kara and she told him the time wasn’t yet ripe for him to understand the purpose of his life.

“I can’t read.” It seemed an inadequate response, but it was true enough. Given time and a patient teacher, the deficiency could be rectified, but time wasn’t an abundant resource for him. In the best circumstances, The Lord of Fire would be marching toward Vantok before Sorial could comprehend a book of children’s tales.

“Your wife can. While you caucus with King Azarak figuring out how to blunt The Lord of Fire’s charge, she can accomplish the important work.”

Sorial turned to leave but paused before knocking on the door to ask to be let out. “Did you know my mother could have been a wizard? The portal called to her and, when she answered its call, it destroyed her.”

“Kara?” One hairless eyebrow shot up. “That’s unexpected. Perhaps it shouldn’t be. As I recall, we never tested her. An oversight, obviously. But we made many mistakes in those early days. Your sister was one. Not rushing your brother was another. I’m convinced The Lord of Fire was invested only a short time before Braddock approached the portal. Maraman lacked the wizard’s capability; we tested him. Carannan is equally bereft, even though his bloodline is respectable. Alicia benefits from his heritage and that of the Lady Evane. Not as strong as yours yet sufficient; that’s why I encouraged their union. But Kara? I never suspected, and I should have. At this point, recriminations, like regrets, are pointless. We are where we are. I’ve gotten us to this point. Now the burden shifts to your shoulders. Without my help, though, you’ll fail. Come back to me, Your Magus, when you’re prepared to have a conversation of substance. When you’re ready to discuss magic as more than just a tool. When you’re ready to understand why, if you don’t gain a fundamental understanding of what it really means to be a wizard, you’ll never be more than a glorified carnival performer.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A SECOND DEMONSTRATION

The man Myselene called “father” was, in Azarak’s opinion, a monster. After having spent the better portion of the day in Rangarak’s company, reviewing logistics for the upcoming ceremony, the king of Vantok was exhausted. Apparently, the concept of “compromise” didn’t enter into Rangarak’s way of thinking. He was a cold, calculating man and, as the leader of the North’s most daunting city, he was accustomed to getting his way. His tactic of negotiation was to verbally bludgeon his opponents until they capitulated.

“I’d apologize for him if I thought it would mean anything,” said Myselene, cognizant of the difficulties her betrothed was having making headway forging a working relationship with Rangarak. Before the Iron King’s bombastic arrival, Azarak had hoped to use the week prior to the wedding to discuss the possibility of a closer relationship between the two cities - a relationship that would include mutual defense pacts and a protected trade route through Widow’s Pass for which both cities would share responsibility. Rangarak, however, appeared unwilling to enter into diplomatic discussions, preferring instead to inspect every aspect of Vantok’s infrastructure and bluntly criticize each area in which he found it wanting.

The Iron King’s comments, never gracious from the first despite Myselene’s suggestion that he would be cordial because of his status as a guest, grew increasingly more insulting with each passing day. It was evident that Rangarak had little respect for Azarak or the way in which he ran his city. “Soft leadership” was what he called it. He found Vantok to be shabby, poorly organized, uncomfortable, smelly, and full of undesirables who should be pressed into work gangs or military service. “If the scum don’t want to work to earn their keep, throw them out of the city.” When he learned about the situation with the rebel nobles, his advice was to send in the army. “Can’t have dissent. It undermines the authority of the Crown. If that happens, you might as well step down.” He volunteered to lend some of his men to help quash the nascent civil disobedience. When Azarak had demurred, Rangarak had sneered.

“Have you two at least come to an agreement about who’s going to officiate at the ceremony?” asked Myselene, reclining in bed next to her soon-to-be husband. It wasn’t late at night, but they had taken refuge in the king’s chambers as an escape from the oppressive need to engage their guests in conversation. They lay in bed in a state of partial undress, but neither considered it an intimate encounter.

When Azarak had explained the situation with Ferguson and proposed Sorial as an alternative, Rangarak refused to acknowledge “the charlatan’s” right to perform the marriage of two peasants, let alone a king and queen. Despite being a firm believer in the doctrine that the gods were gone - if, in fact, they had ever existed in the first place - Rangarak was adamant that a priest preside over the ceremony. He had brought a high-ranking one with him, the vice-prelate of Obis, second only to His Excellency. “Far better him than that shit you call a wizard.”

“We’re going to be married by two priests,” Azarak informed Myselene, clearly unhappy with the arrangement. “That wizened prune your father dragged with him from the North and our esteemed acting prelate, Bishop Belmar.” For many years, Belmar had served as Ferguson’s surrogate on Azarak’s council, so there was at least a level of familiarity. No trust, though. Belmar had been one of Ferguson’s confidantes and there was no indication that the prelate’s incarceration had changed that.

“If there’s one advantage to this debacle of your father refusing Sorial, it will at least make our wizard available to concentrate on security.”

“You believe there’s a threat that either of our magical enemies might strike?”

“Put yourself in their place. Can you think of a more tempting target? But Sorial doesn’t believe an attack, if it comes, will be primarily supernatural. According to him, something big and bold would be easy to detect and defend against. His concern is something more subtle - something that wouldn’t be recognized for what it is until it’s too late.”

“Something we might not be able to plan for.”

“Exactly. I explained the situation to your father and he dismissed it, much as he has dismissed any suggestion that wizards or magic are real. Insufferable man. I don’t know how you grew up under his thumb and ended up as open-minded and rational as you are.”

“I hardly ever saw him. I’m his daughter not his son. He has little use for women so I was left in the care of governesses and tutors. Vice Chancellor Gorton was ten times more a father to me than the king was. Any paternal feelings he might have were carefully concealed, although I’ve been assured by many at court that I’m his favorite child, prized even over my brother. That was scant comfort for those times when I went weeks without seeing him or received only cool words and affectionless kisses when he remembered my existence.”

“Is there any chance he’ll use the men he brought with him to take the city by force?”

Myselene considered before answering. “Nothing is impossible with a man as arrogant and ambitious as him. There are more than a few oddities about the composition of his entourage. Twenty-two hundred men is more than the king of Obis needs for an honor guard, even considering that he’ll be leaving a quarter of their number here.

“His limiting contact between his soldiers and the citizens of Vantok could be seen as common courtesy or it could be to lessen fraternization. It’s less complicated to attack people you don’t know.  Plus, it would be easier to mobilize his forces if they’re all in one place than if they’re scattered around the city.

“Then there’s the question of why Grushik and Sangaska are with him - the heir and the heir’s heir. Their inclusion in the party makes little sense unless one or both of them expects to remain behind. That augurs the possibility that Rangarak doesn’t intend for you to have autonomy when he leaves. At best, one or both might remain as ‘representatives’ of the Iron King. At worst, they would be in complete control.”

The irregularities noted by Myselene lay at the core of Azarak’s concern. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that the wedding was merely an excuse for Rangarak to come south with a large military force without raising suspicion. Had this been his plan all along, or was it an embellishment he had arrived at after Azarak accepted Myselene? Whatever the case, it appeared she was innocent of any conspiracy. He sensed that she was as concerned as he was about the way events were unfolding.

“How would he do it, do you think? You know him better than I do.”

“He doesn’t have a large enough force to engage in a pitched battle with a strong assurance of victory. Vantok’s army outnumbers his three-to-one which negates any advantage he might have when it comes to training and organization. It’s more likely that he’ll use coercion or threats with the expectation of resorting to force if thwarted. He could opt for one of two approaches. The first would be to keep you as Vantok’s nominal ruler with the understanding that you would be beholden to him through Grushik or Sangaska, whoever is left behind. The five hundred men of my dowry would likely report directly to Obis. Or my father could have you assassinated. The throne would then be mine and Grushik or Sangaska could be appointed as ‘chancellor’. In either case, Vantok becomes Obis’ vassal.”

It was logical. The irony, of course, was that anything Rangarak attempted would weaken the city for The Lord of Fire. If the Iron King took Vantok, it seemed unlikely he would hold it for long. Of course, Azarak might be dead by then.

“You have a keen understanding of these things,” remarked the king.

“You don’t grow up in Obis without getting lessons in the finer points of strategy and tactics. And Gorton was determined that my lessons mirror those of most high-born boys. I can’t sew or knit but I can read a map and study a battle plan.”

“And if this comes to pass, if your father makes a play for the city, where will you stand?” He hated to ask; it seemed disloyal to do so. But, in a situation like this, he couldn’t
assume
her allegiance. Then again, if she intended to betray him, she would hardly admit it.

“Once I’m no longer needed, they’ll dispose of me. I’d be a loose end, someone who couldn’t be trusted. So of course I stand with you. And with those who’ll be my people.”

“Not what you expected when you came south to woo a king? A city fractured by rebellion, on the verge of takeover by a foreign power, and facing a massive army from out of The Forbidden Lands.”

“I came to Vantok with the objective of becoming its queen. And, in three days, that’s what I’ll be. The more difficult the challenges, the more rewarding the title.”

Azarak wished he could share those sentiments. The thought of a nice, quiet reign held immense appeal. “Your father’s plan, if it’s close to what you surmise, is fatally flawed. He discounts Sorial, believing him to be a fraud. And he doesn’t know about Alicia. By not considering them in his strategy, he assures himself of being unprepared for whatever defense they mount. But perhaps we overestimate you father’s ambition. Perhaps he’s simply here to attend the wedding of his daughter - an act that will bind the greatest city in the South to the greatest city in the North. Maybe the size of his force and the presence of his heirs is a sign of respect for the importance of the event.”

“Maybe,” conceded Myselene, her voice betraying doubt. “But I hope Sorial’s demonstration is convincing. If my father is converted to being a believer in magic, it may blunt any ambitions he harbors where Vantok is concerned.  If not, let’s say that The Lord of Fire could be delighted by the result.”

* * *

Spent, Sorial withdrew from Alicia to roll onto his back. His skin was sticky with sweat, his breathing labored. He was exhausted, but it was a good kind of exhaustion - the kind that could make his worries temporarily evaporate, and there were plenty of those.

“Wow,” said Alicia. Like Sorial, she was bathed in perspiration. It glistened on her stomach and breasts and darkened the ends of her hair where the curls touched her forehead and neck. “We need to argue more often.” Their bout of frenetic sex had been preceded by a fight over the merits of frequent bathing.

Sorial supposed he had lost; he recalled saying something about taking a bath only if she fucked him to exhaustion. Since she had done that, he assumed he would now be required to trudge down to the river in the middle of the night and go for a quick swim. Except Alicia seemed in no hurry to get up.

“You can wait until morning,” she finally conceded, as if reading his thoughts. “After I catch my breath, I might want to do it again. No point getting cleaned up yet.”

For Sorial, sex with Alicia, like arguing about pointless, insignificant minutiae, was a welcome distraction from the weightier matters of life. The first and foremost of those was the demonstration he was expected to provide to the king of Obis tonight at Azarak and Myselene’s gala pre-wedding banquet. The other was that he had been put in charge of security for the celebration. Sorial’s initial relief at being removed from the responsibility of officiating had been short-lived; his new role was more important and less straightforward.

“Have you figured out how to awe King Iron Stick Up His Ass?” asked Alicia. She had taken an immediate and intense dislike to the king of Obis. She didn’t like how the man treated his daughter nor was she appreciative of the constantly insulting comments he made about Sorial.

“I think I’ll shake him up a little. Nothing harmful, but he’ll get the point, I hope.” It was disconcerting to recognize how easily he could dispatch the king if he so desired. Open the floor beneath his feet, send a pebble into his skull, drop one of the gargantuan stones that comprised the dining hall’s ceiling onto his head... there were an endless variety of possibilities. But it bothered him how… pedestrian… those applications of magic were.  Ferguson’s labeling of him as a “glorified carnival performer” had lodged in his mind and festered. The prelate was right - every application of magic he had thus far attempted was obvious. Against The Lord of Fire, obvious wasn’t good enough. And with Rangarak, it might be easier to kill him than impress him.

“The king thinks Rangarak might be plotting something, that this might not be a purely ceremonial visit. He ain’t convinced that the mighty Lord of the North needs an honor guard of two-thousand. But if he’s planning something, it ain’t gonna happen till after his daughter’s been confirmed as Vantok’s queen. So Azarak should be safe from Rangarak till after the wedding.”

“Myselene is worried about something. I can sense it.” Alicia had been spending a fair amount of time with the soon-to-be-queen, at least as much time as Myselene’s responsibilities for arranging the wedding and playing host to her father’s party would allow. “She doesn’t trust those two cretins Rangarak brought with him - her brother and her sister’s husband. They’re both married but they spend all their time at the brothels.”

The only brothel Sorial had visited was The Tart’s Twat, and he doubted that was where the visitors from Obis were spending their coins. More likely a high class establishment like Ladies of Luxury. And they probably didn’t pay. Men like Grushik and Sangaska were accustomed to getting what they wanted for free.

“Azarak asked me to watch them. He didn’t say anything specific, but he suspects an assassination plot. So now I have to worry about Ariel and The Lord of Fire during the ceremony and the brutes from Obis once it’s over. Things were so much simpler when I was stuck in a cave.”