The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (31 page)

Both men from Obis were standing, in part because, as a result of his bulky armor, Rangarak couldn’t fit into chair. So as not to be at a gross disadvantage of height - Azarak didn’t want the Iron King to loom over him - the Vantok contingent eschewed seats as well.

“This won’t take long, Your Majesty,” said Rangarak. “But it’s only fair I advise you of a change in my advisory body before you begin administering the oaths of loyalty to your new citizens today.”

That
didn’t sound at all promising.

“Yesterday morning, prior to the wedding ceremony, Vice Chancellor Gorton was removed from his position for conduct unbecoming a royal advisor. He will be taken back to Obis and tried for these charges. In the interim, I’ve replaced him with my son, Grushik. I’m aware of the language in the betrothal agreement that reads: ‘The Vice Chancellor of Obis shall transfer his allegiance to Vantok, where he will occupy a similar position of authority to the one he currently holds.’ We intend to stand by that agreement.”

Azarak, despite being schooled in the art of not betraying his emotions through minute changes in facial expressions, wasn’t completely successful in concealing his displeasure. A move like this on the part of the Iron King wasn’t entirely unexpected but Azarak had been hoping to avoid the diplomatic meltdown that could occur as a result.

“Of course,” continued Rangarak, “It’s not possible for my new vice chancellor to take the oath of fealty to Vantok as it would be highly inappropriate for the heir to the throne of Obis to have divided loyalties. That being said, however, I intend for Grushik to remain behind when my contingent leaves. He can serve as one of your key advisors with a seat on your council while renewing his relationship with his sister and providing invaluable suggestions should Vantok become embroiled in a military engagement, as whispers suggest. Grushik has one of the finest military minds in all the North - finer even than Gorton. On balance, I believe this will work better for both cities.”

Azarak wondered if Rangarak believed him to be a simpleton. The implications of this switch were obvious. If Grushik remained behind, Azarak’s life expectancy would be short - probably only until a child or two had been produced. During that time, Grushik would amass a base of power within Vantok, drawing on the support of those disaffected with the current regime. After Azarak’s assassination, Myselene would hold the throne only if she cooperated with her father and brother.

Of course, it wasn’t a foolproof plan. It assumed any imminent war would be won by Vantok (presumably with Grushik positioning himself to be hailed as a hero, improving his popularity among the masses) and that Sorial’s impact could be neutralized. Azarak wondered how Rangarak planned to manage that situation. Perhaps assassination.

“So you intend to break a duly ratified agreement only a day after it went into effect. Not a good way to begin a new era in Vantok/Obis relations.” Azarak made the statement bluntly, without couching it in diplomatically palatable language.

“Come, Your Majesty! You can’t honestly believe I would
allow
such an important person as my son to swear allegiance to Vantok.”

“Not at all. I expect that you will permit Vice Chancellor Gorton to renounce his citizenship of Obis and join my court. The only reason he wasn’t referenced by name in the betrothal agreement is because no one believed there was a need for such specificity. But everyone, yourself included, understood that Gorton was expected to be part of the package delivered at the wedding. Now, not only are you attempting to circumvent that but you offer in Gorton’s stead an alternate who will continue to report to you as he sits on my council!”

“Gorton will be returning to Obis. My decision to permit him to reside in Vantok has always been conditional. Grushik will remain here and will be in direct command of the 500 men being left behind.
They
will swear your oath but don’t misunderstand for a moment where their ultimate loyalty would lie in the event of a falling-out between our two cities.”

Azarak was finding it increasingly difficult to hold his temper, even while recognizing that losing it now could risk a diplomatic incident with cataclysmic consequences. “If you’re firm in your decision not to allow Gorton to remain, then might I respectfully request that you re-consider your choice for the new vice chancellor; let him be someone who could swear fealty to Vantok, even if it’s a lesser personage.”

“My son has already been given the position. There will be no reconsidering.”

“Then, since you have elected not to follow the agreement let me also depart from it. Gorton will not be
replaced
. Either he will fill Vantok’s vice chancellor position or no one will. No one will sit on my council or hold a position of authority in Vantok except the man previously selected by mutual agreement.”

Now it was Rangarak’s turn to show the beginnings of anger. He took a step toward Azarak and poked him forcefully in the chest with a beefy index finger. “You listen to me, Your Majesty. You’re nothing but a jumped-up bureaucrat, and not even a good one at that. Your militia is inadequate and poorly trained. The sanitation is deplorable. There’s no irrigation. There are beggars on the street. If Vantok is the ‘Jewel of the South,’ the other cities must be shitholes indeed. Don’t think you can issue edicts when you don’t have the army to challenge half the force I brought with me. Grushik will remain behind. He’ll be appointed to your council and given the title of vice chancellor. And, among whatever other responsibilities you trust to him, he’ll have direct command over those among your militia who were once citizens of Obis. These are my
new
terms; reject them at your peril.”

Azarak recognized that if he said the wrong word or combination of words, Vantok could face a war far sooner than when The Lord of Fire began his northward march. At the same time, he couldn’t simply accede to the Iron King’s demands. To do so would betray a lack of backbone that would cause him to lose respect not only among those in the room, but all across the city.

“We both understand what’s really going on,” said Azarak, forcing into his voice a note of icy calmness he didn’t feel. “There’s nothing I can do to prevent Grushik from remaining in Vantok. In fact, as a representative of Obis, he’ll be an honored guest and will be accorded every courtesy. But, as long as he’s an ambassador of a foreign city, he’ll be given limited access and no authority over the citizens of Vantok, regardless of where they were born and raised. Should he exceed his mandate, he’ll be arrested and deported.

“One other thing: in the event of my untimely demise, he would be advised to quit Vantok immediately and flee to Obis. I have a great many allies who would seek to avenge my death, one of whom is a wizard. Grushik would undoubtedly be a suspect if an assassination occurred, and it might be that some of my operatives would be unwilling to wait for a trial.”

* * *

“Not exactly a state of war, but close enough. Let’s say that relations between Vantok and Obis are at a low ebb,” said Azarak, explaining the situation to Sorial, who had been summoned immediately following Rangarak’s departure for the tournament. They were in one of the palace’s back gardens, enjoying a leisurely stroll around the grounds. The flowering bushes were in full bloom but the location had been chosen more for its security than its beauty. Here, they were safe from the nest of spies that infiltrated the palace.

A loud cheer went up from the parade grounds, which were located midway between the palace and the temple. The tournament was just underway and thousands were in attendance, packing the streets around the grounds and standing on nearby rooftops, much as had been the case for Sorial’s demonstration. Having made an appearance, Azarak had retreated to the palace to meet with the wizard. He would be back in time to watch Rangarak’s first round match so as not to cause offense.

“What are your plans?” asked Sorial. He was possessed of sufficient political understanding to recognize that if Grushik remained in Vantok, an attempt on Azarak’s life was a certainty. Rather than risk a clash of armies that could inflict heavy losses on Vantok’s military with the threat of an invasion looming, the Iron King had elected to attempt something that, at least for him, was subtle.

“My options are limited for the moment. If I refuse, Rangarak will either attack with the forces immediately available to him or blockade the city while sending for a sizeable contingent of reinforcements. If I allow Grushik to remain and grant him the seat on the council demanded by his father, not only am I setting a dangerous precedent, but I’m putting my life and reign in jeopardy.”

“Do you trust Myselene to oppose them?”

Azarak didn’t hesitate in affirming his new wife’s loyalty. “Yes, although I don’t know what she’ll do if I’m killed. Likely whatever’s required to retain the throne for herself and any children, born or unborn. I couldn’t fault her for that, but it would mean letting Rangarak believe she’s biddable.”

“But if Rangarak or Grushik makes a play for the throne while you’re still alive...?”

“She’d oppose them. But she’s not the wild card; you are.”

Sorial nodded. He had suspected it would come to this. Rangarak had the advantage of military might. Azarak had the advantage of magical strength to supplement his physical resources. “All things considered, that might actually be Alicia. Rangarak knows about me.”

“Despite his newfound conversion to a belief in wizards, I doubt he understands what you’re capable of and, as impressive as it was, your demonstration amounted to little more than an elevated parlor trick. He
considers
you but I don’t think he believes you’d make much of a difference in a battle.”

“But you don’t want it to come to that.”

“Not with Rangarak.  You’ll eventually be tried by fire, if you’ll pardon the expression, but Vantok is ill equipped to fight one war, let alone two. This must be resolved without a clash of arms, which means I must accede to Rangarak’s demands, or at least seem to.”

“And that’s where you want my help.”

“Once Rangarak is far enough away that a return trip is unlikely even if messages from his son cease to reach him, it would benefit everyone if Grushik was simply to disappear. No trace. As if a hole in the ground opened up and swallowed him.”

Sorial said nothing. Did it trouble him to be used as an assassin? Not in this case, when he understood the choice as being between Grushik and Azarak. The dilemma, if there was one, was that once Sorial did this once, it would be difficult to refuse a similar commission in the future. There were other options open to Azarak, but they were more complicated and prone to failure. Grushik was a big, dangerous man. He would have elite troops protecting him. And he would be prepared for an attack. A conventional assassin’s odds of success were poor. Sorial, on the other hand, could think of a half-dozen ways to eliminate him without a trace. This, at least, was something that could be accomplished in a brute force manner, without demanding anything in the way of creativity.

“Can I depend on you in this matter?” pressed Azarak, unwilling to accept Sorial’s silence as his assent.

“Let me know when Rangarak’s army is far enough away for me to act.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TOURNAMENT

Azarak’s impression of the tournament was that it was a contest for those who, having grown up during the city’s longest extended peacetime, had never seen genuine combat. The sight of two heavily armored men hoisting unwieldy lances as they charged at one another atop warhorses elicited shouts and cheers from the crowd, especially when the inevitable clash was violent enough to unhorse at least one participant.

Unlike past tournaments, when a returning champion basked in the adulation of the throng, it had been long enough since the last major competition that all the old favorites had retired from the bone-crunching sport, leaving the field wide open - at least insofar as coming in second to Rangarak could be considered a laudable goal. For the most part, those attending were there for one of two reasons, neither of which had anything to do with sentimental rooting or hero-worship. Those spectators who hadn’t gambled their hard earned studs on one contender or another were hoping to see as many gruesome collisions as possible.

Once, not that many years ago, jousting had been a civilized sport, with contestants bowing to one another before their passes and taking care to avoid imparting serious injuries. Whether in victory or defeat, opponents had accorded courtesy to one another. Such things were marks of a lost era. The goal was no longer merely to unseat a rival but to humiliate and injure him. Broken bones were common and deaths weren’t unheard of. Rancor had replaced respect. Even those who were friendly away from the tournament became mortal enemies as soon as the games began.

Azarak didn’t know the names of many of the contestants.  Dressed as they were in full suits of armor, they all looked alike. They clambered onto their beleaguered mounts, charged toward their adversaries at full speed, then hit the ground with jarring crashes or lifted their arms in triumph. It rarely took more than one pass and never more than three. The rules were specific: the contest continued until someone was separated from his horse.

Rangarak’s first joust was the most anticipated but hardly the most remarkable. He was pitted against a burly, jovial member of a minor noble’s household guard. Against a lesser opponent, the man might have stood a chance despite his obvious limitations as a horseman. Against Rangarak, however, the results were brutal and predictable. As he lay writhing on the ground with a broken leg, the man probably didn’t consider himself lucky, but Azarak knew that a slightly different angle of the lance might have deprived the guard of more than his dignity. The question for the king of Vantok to ponder was whether the Iron King had shown his own brand of mercy or whether he had been clumsy. In the end, it hardly mattered.

Azarak was seated between his chancellor and the unoccupied chair reserved for his new wife. Also on the raised dais were key members of Obis’ royal party, including Azarak’s soon-to-be “vice chancellor” and Grushik’s foul-mouthed companion and brother-in-law.

“Impressive,” said Toranim after Rangarak had departed in triumph. His second round appearance would be later in the day with three more to come on the morrow in the likely event that he continued to advance.

“When it comes to acts of pure physical prowess, few are his peer,” replied Azarak. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard by Grushik or Sangaska. He need not have worried; the two were so engrossed in drinking and applauding violent collisions that they showed little interest in any conversation between the king of Vantok and his chief advisor. Or so it seemed. Azarak couldn’t help but wonder whether a majority of Grushik’s boorish personality was a carefully constructed disguise. It was difficult to determine whether the man was cunning or stupid. Myselene sided with the latter interpretation but Azarak wasn’t sure.

“We have no one to challenge him,” said Toranim matter-of-factly. “It rankles that Vantok’s grandest sporting event in years will be won by a foreigner.”

“More’s the pity. I’d love to see the bastard unhorsed, and not just for patriotic reasons, but it seems unlikely. His reputation’s warranted. I only hope he doesn’t kill someone on his path to claiming the trophy.”

“Ah, for the days when Vikon was in his prime. He’d have given Rangarak a battle.” Vantok’s soon-to-be-ex-overcommander, a winner in three previous competitions, had originally been slated to compete, but he had backed out upon learning that Rangarak would be a participant. Years ago, Vikon had been a well-loved jousting champion. He had lost only one bout: his final one, the one that drove him into retirement. He had no desire to re-emerge only to be humiliated by the king of Obis. Azarak, however, was less concerned about Vikon’s jousting aspirations than the man’s wavering loyalty.

On the field in front of them, two more contestants were taking their places. Azarak sighed. “I can’t think of a more dull way to spend the first two days of my wedded life.”

Those words would not prove to be prophetic.

* * *

The breeze was gentle and teasing, blowing across Sorial’s bare scalp and tousling Alicia’s hair. It carried the unmistakable aroma of the sea - something he could no longer smell due to his sacrifice at the portal. But that would not be true of his wife and this trip was for her. It was time for her to taste the fullness of her powers. He had spent weeks in isolation ripening his abilities. Thus far, the best she had managed was a few hours by the river.

They were standing on a wide, desolate, rocky beach, naked, with the incoming tide lapping at their toes. Little more than a hundred feet away, whitecaps were breaking with a thunderous roar but the undertow sapped their ferocity before the onrushing cascade of water could reach the wizards.
In a way, we’re both in our elements. Even under all this water, there’s still earth.

“It’s so much different than I imagined. All this water. All this
power
.”

“Can you control it?” That was the key question. Whatever she was going to learn, she had to learn fast. They had little time here; Azarak needed them back in the city two days after the tournament ended in case Rangarak tried something.

She went very still and her gaze became faraway. It was the same way he looked when he was calling for the rock wyrm or attempting a magical feat. “Yes,” she said finally, her voice distant. “But water is heavy. You don’t realize it when you’re swimming in it or drinking it, but it requires a lot of effort to move. The power in those waves...”

He understood. Weight and power. A wizard had to learn to circumvent one and harness the other. For Sorial, the key to moving dirt wasn’t to shift huge amounts at one time, but to transfer it speck by speck. He had discovered that early, but the trick was being able to do it fast enough so that large quantities moved at the same time. Mastering that had allowed him to build Mount Vantok.

He noticed there was no water at his feet. Ten, twenty feet in front of him, the stones were exposed. The sea was receding, pulling away from the beach and gathering into a monstrous wave.

“Go underground, stableboy,” said Alicia, excitement and urgency in her voice. Her eyes sparkled: hard, green, ecstatic. “I can survive this. I don’t think you can, and I don’t know enough to help you.” This was her demonstration but he would be the only one to witness it.

He could have counseled patience. He could have advised her not to try to do too much too soon. But he did neither, because he needed her to take these sorts of risks, just as he would have to push himself in the days and weeks ahead. The Lord of Fire and Lady of Air weren’t going to give them time and space to explore the depth and breadth of their powers. There was no prescribed path to follow. It was all trial and error even though the possibility existed that if either of them overreached, there would be an opening for a new wizard. That was their reality. Circumstances had robbed them of the opportunity to study their craft slowly and meticulously. That’s how wizards had accomplished their apprenticeships a thousand years ago. But those men were long dead; he and Alicia were here now with no guidance but their instincts.

The wave was perhaps forty feet from base to crest when Sorial allowed himself to melt through the stones and into the earth. Unsure how powerful the impact would be when the wave crashed to the ground, he went deep. Even fifty feet below the beach, he felt the concussion when it hit - a mighty tremor that shook the earth for miles around. At that moment, he got a sense of the kind of power Alicia could command if she learned how to do it. He also realized that all the power became available to him at the moment when it was transferred from the water to the earth. If he captured it at the precise instant, he could channel it in any way he saw fit. It was a moment of enlightenment that illustrated a way in which he and Alicia might be able to complement one another in a real-world situation.

The power of the wave reminded him that Alicia’s abilities were more varied and potentially more destructive than his. After all, over time, water could wear away earth, undermining it and eroding it. The Lady of Water could do something as delicate as staunching an injured man’s wound and as devastating as flooding a city and drowning every soul living there. The ability to save lives and to take them.

When Sorial returned to the surface, Alicia was standing in the exact spot where he had left her, drenched but otherwise untouched. She flashed him a smile when she noticed him. “That was fun! Almost as nice as an orgasm but different.” Then she turned serious. “I think I understand your difficulty in bringing me with you when you travel underground. I was able to cushion myself against the impact of the wave - I hardly felt it - but I couldn’t have stopped it from crushing you. My ability to interact with it was limited to my body.”

“I’m sure there’s a way; I just haven’t figured out what it is. But if we’re going to be effective, we need to experiment. Plus, I hate always arriving naked.”

“Endowed like that, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I like you naked, and I’m sure you feel the same about me.”

“Here, it’s fine. But it was damn cold at Ibitsal and it was embarrassing to get undressed in front of kings and half the city’s nobility. I felt like I should have been performing in a brothel.”

Remembering Myselene’s appraising gaze, she remarked, “You may be right.” Then her smile returned. “Let’s play some more!”

That evening, after the sun set, they were snuggling by a small campfire they had started above the high-tide point. It was warm enough that they didn’t need the flames for heat but Sorial preferred cooked fish to raw, although Alicia was surprisingly willing to eat them either way. She claimed raw fish, when prepared a certain way, were considered a delicacy among the nobility. Sorial was dubious of the claim although, in his limited experience, the upper class evidenced some strange tastes.

After eating, they removed blankets from their packs to spread over the beach’s pebbles. Spending a night lying directly on that ground would be uncomfortable even for Sorial. They held each other quietly for a while, listening to the rhythmic crashing of the surf and luxuriating in the warmth exuded by each other’s bodies.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” said Alicia. Her features, illuminated by the ruddy glow of the dying fire, were serious. Her earlier playful demeanor had evaporated.

“While you were with the king this morning, I went to the palace to visit Ferguson. I had a little trouble getting in to see him, since I don’t share your exalted rank, but Myselene helped me get through the checkpoints.”

“Why would you want to see that withered old husk?”

“Those are almost exactly the same words the queen used. To be honest, I’m not sure what I expected from the encounter. I guess I wanted to look him in the eyes. Maybe I wanted an apology.”

“I’m sure you didn’t get one.”

“No; he’s unrepentant. But I’m surprised how old he looks. It’s only a year since my Maturity but he seems to have aged decades. All the life and vitality’s gone. There’s nothing intimidating about him. Yet he seems strangely at peace, almost as if he enjoys the simplicity of sitting in that room reading.”

“I’m sure that’s only temporary. A man don’t easily give up the kind of power he had for decades.”

“Perhaps not, but he seems diminished. He had a lot to say about the upcoming war and the motivations of our enemy.”

Sorial thought back to his recent conversation with the prelate. “I’ll bet he talked in riddles.”

“Not really. I don’t claim to understand half of what he said, but seemed to be trying to speak plainly. He gave me a ‘recommended reading list’ that he said will help me to come to a better realization of what’s happening. And he said there’s a library halfway around the world, on another continent, that was built by the wizards of old to house their most important writings. He’s been there.”

“Now I wish I could read. Never could see much value in it when I was working at The Wayfarer’s Comfort. But that’s when I was a stableboy.”

“Someday, I’ll teach you, or try to. You may be too thick to learn. But we don’t have time now. Sorial, I’m going to have to go to that library. You and I both know the kind of trial-and-error stumbling we’re doing won’t be good enough if it comes to a fight with your sister or The Lord of Fire. Practicing and learning at our own pace would be fine if there wasn’t a war on the horizon, but we don’t have that luxury. According to Ferguson, there are books there that can teach us shortcuts and help us understand the deeper methods of our powers. What we’re doing now, what he calls ‘surface magic,’ is fine when fighting humans but practically useless when going against a trained wizard.”