The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (34 page)

Azarak raised an eyebrow in surprise. “On what grounds?”

“He’s planning to sack your city, isn’t he? Wouldn’t you consider that grounds enough? For him, this is a matter of honor. He will accept The Challenge, believing himself able to best you in combat. It would be advantageous to him. He doesn’t want to lose even a small fraction of his army in an ultimately meaningless battle. He wants to retain honor so he’ll be acclaimed as king upon his return. Killing you would achieve that, and that’s the reason he’ll fight you himself rather than calling for a champion. Upon victory, he would depart, probably taking your head as a trophy. Your wife would ascend to the throne of Vantok.”

“And if I win?”

“Sangaska takes the Crown and leaves. Either way, your city is safe. The question is: Are you willing to die in single combat to save your city?”

If Azarak was possessed of a suspicious nature, he might have believed this had all been orchestrated to put his wife on the throne as a puppet of Obis. He knew he couldn’t defeat Grushik in a duel, regardless of what the weapons were. Was it possible that Grushik had somehow orchestrated his own father’s ghastly death in such a way to make it appear like magic? Was Gorton’s timely “defection” a coincidence or part of a deeper plot? Could Myselene betray him within days of their wedding?

He glanced at her face. In it, he saw only concern and anxiety - the emotions of a new wife who had heard her husband’s death sentence pronounced. But she was also a child of the Iron King, as ambitious in her own way as Grushik. Was it enough for her to be Vantok’s co-ruler or did she thirst for sole power? The truth was, Azarak trusted and believed her. And if that trust was misplaced, he might well be a dead man.

Still, there was nothing that said Azarak couldn’t make use of all the weapons at his disposal. He thought of himself as an honorable man but not a stupid one.

Everyone was quiet, awaiting Azarak’s decision. “Very well. Bring Grushik to me. I’ll issue The Challenge then let him return with his father’s bones to the Obis campsite. Vice Chancellor Gorton, perhaps you would be good enough to instruct me further about the thing I am about to become committed to?”

* * *

“You will rue this day, Your Majesty,” snarled Grushik, his features mottled with anger. He stood facing an impassive Azarak, who sat straight-backed on the throne, the crown of Vantok adorning his brow. The king had chosen to face Obis’ heir apparent in this setting rather than in the more intimate locale of his private sanctum. The session was closed to the public. Aside from Toranim, Azarak, Grushik, and handful of guards, no one else was present, although Myselene and Gorton watched from a concealed alcove. Absent the throngs that normally packed the chamber, the cavernous throne room was an intimidating place.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Azarak’s voice was cool and even, projecting a calm he didn’t feel. “I’m sure you understand that, considering the unconventional circumstances surrounding your father’s death, I felt it necessary to remove you immediately to a place of safety lest an assassin make a similar attempt on your life.”

If Azarak’s words gave Grushik pause, he showed no sign of it. “You will burn for this, king of Vantok. You and your people. I have enough men here to reduce this shithole you call a city to a pile of smoking embers.”

Gorton had coached Azarak how to direct this conversation so Grushik would be unable to circumvent The Challenge. “Clearly, your grievance is with me, not my city. Why threaten my people?”

“Because they follow you. Because you rule them. I accuse you not only of imprisoning the rightful ruler of Obis, but of conspiring with others to kill King Rangarak.”

“Then your grievance is with me. You accuse
me
,” pressed Azarak.

Grushik regarded the king as if facing an imbecile. “I’ve said so, and I’ll use my army to attain justice for the late ruler of Obis, who was murdered in a cowardly way by sorcery while he lay injured and unable to defend himself.”

It was enough. “Then, to spare your men and mine a conflict that isn’t theirs, I officially Challenge you to single combat under the ancient rules that govern such contests. Our duel will resolve this grievance.”

Grushik recognized instantly that he had been manipulated. Azarak saw it in the narrowing of his eyes. But, other than momentarily stinging his pride, it wouldn’t matter to him. If he won the contest, an outcome he would believe inevitable, his honor would be assured. “You’ve been well coached in our customs, King Azarak. Strange pillow talk for my sister, but perhaps that’s the kind of thing that turns you on. Does she tell you of our ‘bloody’ and ‘barbaric’ ways as she strokes your cock? Is that what it takes to get you off?”

Azarak said nothing.

“Very well. I accept your Challenge. To the death. In front of your people and mine, so all may see me grind you into the dirt beneath my heel. I require no champion to beat you. Name the time of your death, King Azarak, and the weapon by which you choose to die.”

“Swords. Though you may find it hard to believe, I’m somewhat accomplished with them. And I’ll give you one day to dispose of your father’s remains according to your customs. We’ll meet on the tournament grounds the morning after next, with combat to begin when the sun crests the horizon.”

“Fuck my sister well tonight and tomorrow night, then. Get her with child for, after that, you’ll get no more chances. Once you’re gone, she’ll choose another consort and his child will grow big in her belly before eventually sitting on the throne of Vantok. And perhaps that consort will be a loyal subject to the king of Obis, if not the king of Obis himself.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: THE CHALLENGE

Sorial and Azarak were alone in the king’s private audience chamber; Azarak had placed additional guards on duty to ensure they weren’t disturbed. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted overheard. Some requests he had to make of subjects gave him little joy; this was one of them. But it had to be done.

Sorial and Alicia had been briefed about the situation on their return the previous evening, but this was the first opportunity the king had carved into his schedule to meet one-on-one with the wizard. Since hearing about The Challenge and the implications of a loss for the Crown, Sorial had been anticipating this discussion. He was reasonably certain what Azarak’s expectations would be for his role at the combat location.

Grushik was a hulking man and, although physical stoutness wasn’t always an indication of prowess in combat, the new king of Obis bore a fearsome reputation. Sorial hadn’t seen Azarak in practice but reports of his swordsmanship were those of an above-average practitioner, not a blademaster. It seemed unlikely that Azarak could be expected to defeat Grushik in a fight to the death without a little... help. That was undoubtedly where Sorial came in. This would be his first substantive opportunity to use his powers in the service of Vantok, assuming that serving the king equaled serving the city. In Sorial’s mind, they were one and the same.

“You understand why I requested this meeting?” asked the king. His voice was lowered despite the unlikelihood of eavesdroppers.

“I do, Your Majesty, and you have my support in this matter.” He and Alicia had spent half the previous night discussing it and they were in agreement.

“Can you do it without calling attention to your involvement? I believe the air-wizard used her powers to unseat Rangarak during the competition. No one other than me noticed anything amiss at the time. That’s the kind of subtlety I’m hoping for.”

Sorial hadn’t seen his sister’s work but she had likely employed a controlled burst of air to trip Rangarak’s horse. In terms of power, it required little, but it demanded a degree of finesse that only years of practice could impart. Sorial had been a wizard for less than two seasons; he couldn’t hope to match the sophistication of her methods. He was aware of his limitations, and they were considerable. Sometimes he wondered if a lack of imagination more than a lack of skill held him back. This was a dilemma he wrestled with in the quiet corners of his mind while Alicia lay next to him sleeping.

“I can try something like what I did in the dining hall. If the ground beneath Grushik’s feet quakes, he may lose concentration as he tries to keep his footing.” And any loss of concentration in battle could be fatal if the opponent recognized it and was in a position to take advantage.

“You seem unsure.”

“I may not be good enough to narrow the effect to the ground beneath his feet alone, especially if he’s moving. That would require experience I ain’t got. Maybe in ten years but not now. It’ll hit you too, though maybe not as strongly.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” said Azarak. “It will be advantage enough to expect it. What else?”

“I can’t guarantee it will be transparent. Anyone watching could notice something odd. There will be a suspicion that your victory, if you win, was gained by means beyond your bladesmanship.”

Azarak shrugged off the possibility. “Unsubstantiated rumors. There remains deep reluctance among the men of Obis to accept the reality of magic. Grushik claims Rangarak died of an exotic poison rather than admit to anything ‘unnatural,’ even though it was clear at his father’s deathbed that he believed otherwise. Observers from Vantok are more likely to give credence to the possibility but they’re less likely to object if it results in a victory for their king.”

“The Lord of Fire may have more moves planned. If my attention is on the ground beneath Grushik’s feet, I can’t ward against a magical attack.”

“That will be your wife’s duty.”

“My experience with matters of magic is limited. Hers is less. Her first major undertakings were successful but...”

“Forgive me for suggesting this, Your Magus, but I believe you do the Lady Alicia a disservice. She may have more resources than you suspect. Remember: without training, she saved your life. Besides, there’s no one else. She’ll have to do her best, as will we all. This is by no means a certain thing. But if I die, I fear for the future of this city. It’s not that I mistrust Myselene’s leadership but I worry she won’t be permitted to function autonomously. I believe Rangarak’s eventual plan, upset in such an unsettling manner by our adversaries to the south, was to annex Vantok either peacefully or by using arms. What better way to build an empire than by controlling the most powerful cities in the North and South? There’s no reason to assume Grushik’s eventual aims are different.”

“Does the lack of chivalry disturb you?” Sorial expected an angry protestation. Azarak confounded him by laughing.

“Is my conscience uneasy because I’m going to cheat?  This may sound like something Ferguson would argue, but there are times when the fact of winning overshadows the way in which the winning occurs. I agreed to The Challenge because it was the only way to avoid mass bloodshed, but suicide was never my intention despite the obvious physical and martial superiority of my opponent. It’s paramount for Vantok that I survive so this city doesn’t become embroiled in a messy succession at the very time when The Lord of Fire plans to strike. I’m not foolish enough to believe I can beat Grushik fairly, blade-to-blade, so I’ll do what’s necessary. I won’t lose sleep over it nor should you. And don’t for a moment believe that His Majesty of Obis would reject magic if he possessed the means to use it.”

Sorial nodded. It was the kind of reasoning he could agree with even if, as Azarak pointed out, it was Ferguson-like in its basis: do what was necessary in service of the greater good. It occurred to him that chivalry, of questionable value in its heyday, was almost certainly dead, put in its grave by the passing of the gods. The world had slipped into an uglier and more pragmatic era.

“I won’t be able to signal you,” said Sorial. “My actions will be opportunistic. Be ready at all times.”

“Don’t take too long. He’s stronger than I am and will probably want to finish this quickly. His first attacks will be the most dangerous. I’ll be on the defensive from the beginning. If he overwhelms me in his first flurry...”

“...I’ll bring him down immediately and damn the consequences. I’ll do what’s necessary. If subtlety works, so much the better. If not... I’m capable of using a more forceful kind of magic.”
Just ask Langashin. Just ask Maraman. And, perhaps soon, just ask Grushik.

* * *

She was waiting for him. Naked, willing, lying on their bed with lips slightly parted and legs spread. The submissive position was unusual for Myselene, but she would allow him to dominate her on what might be their last night together. Neither of them was foolish enough to believe that sleep was a possibility with what loomed in the morning. Perhaps the pursuit of physical release could distract them, if only for a few moments.

For Azarak, however, distraction didn’t come easily. Since Rangarak’s death, he had been haunted by prickings of uncertainty about Myselene’s fidelity. Not in their bed, but in other matters. For this symphony of unfortunate events to have happened so soon after she had taken her seat beside him on the throne, wasn’t some degree of suspicion justified? Myselene had given no indication of involvement in a conspiracy. Her every response seemed genuine; each reaction that of a caring, concerned wife. She didn’t love him; he had known that going into the marriage. She was ambitious but that trait had always seemed more of an asset than a liability.

He rode her with an intensity that she perhaps wasn’t expecting; the condemned man consuming his last feast with untamed ferocity. Their coupling was almost violent and, when it was over, they were both sore and out of breath. Azarak noticed the lone tear that trickled down Myselene’s cheek, but he couldn’t determine its meaning. Had the force of the moment overwhelmed her as much as it had him? Or were there other factors at work?

She turned on her side to face him. “You don’t trust me.” It was spoken softly, sadly. Although not intended as an accusation, that’s how Azarak heard it.

This was the woman he had married. He had trusted her enough to share the Crown with her. Secrets were poison, but could he share this one with her, thereby putting his life in her hands? If he told her about his agreement with Sorial and she was false, he condemned himself. In that case, Grushik would know about his plans before their combat and any advantage would be lost. And without that advantage, Azarak couldn’t win.

“There’s nothing I can do to prove I’ve broken all ties with
them
.” She spat the word with the venom of a curse. “I can see how it looks. With you dead, I’d become sole ruler of Vantok and sister to the king of Obis. Marry us - brother and sister, not unheard of in royal circles - and the cities would be joined. Grushik and Myselene, king and queen of the joint Vantok/Obis Empire. But I thought you knew me better than that. I’d die before allowing such a thing. I hate Grushik more than I hated my father. If the gods existed, I would swear an oath on my soul but such things are just words with no power to enforce them.”

Azarak leaned toward her and kissed her tenderly on the lips. The doubts weren’t gone, but he knew he couldn’t let them cripple him or destroy what he was trying to forge with Myselene. He had chosen her. If he was in error, the mistake had been made and he would pay the price. He couldn’t undo what had been done.

“You’re my queen,” he said softly, using a finger to wipe away the original tear and two others that had joined it. “I don’t regret our marriage. And it won’t end at the tip of your brother’s sword.”

Her eyes widened at those words and suddenly Azarak understood the reason for the tears. Myselene, his clever, brazen, beautiful queen, was
frightened
. Frightened for him in a duel against her brother. Because of her poise and her expertise in statecraft, it was easy to forget how young she was. She wanted to rule, but not alone - at least not yet - and she saw his demise as a certainty. It wasn’t an unworthy belief, but magic had a way of changing things that were seemingly preordained. Rangarak hadn’t won the tournament and Azarak had no intention of losing the duel.

“I met with Sorial today. He’ll use his magic tomorrow to make sure Grushik doesn’t carve me into pieces. He’ll shake the earth beneath your brother’s feet to create an opening for me, and I’m a competent enough swordsman to make use of the smallest of mistakes.”

They made love a second time - slow, tender, unhurried. When their orgasms had subsided, they lay quietly, holding one another, both aware that, despite the best efforts of Vantok’s wizard, these might be their final moments together. Neither drifted off but time didn’t crawl the way it normally did when sleep was elusive and morning came far too soon for either of them.

* * *

The spoils of victory were straightforward. This wasn’t a duel for supremacy. Vantok wasn’t the prize. It was a contest between two kings - one who accused the other of murder. Toranim and Sangaska, Grushik’s acting chancellor, had hammered out the details in a document that both combatants signed. When The Challenge was complete, one city would require a new ruler but little else was expected to change. Whoever survived could lay claim to having truth and righteousness on his side.

If Azarak triumphed, Sangaska would take command of the military force from Obis. The 500 men bequeathed to Vantok as part of Myselene’s betrothal document would remain behind as citizens of Vantok, as per the agreement. The rest of the army would depart within 12 hours following the conclusion of the contest. To fulfill the “vice chancellor” clause, Sangaska would leave behind a minor functionary.

If Grushik won, Myselene would become the sole ruler of Vantok. The 500 men originally designated as her dowry would be given free choice to remain in Vantok or return to Obis; it was assumed most would choose the latter option. Sangaska would remain behind to fill the Vice Chancellor position, ensuring that Obis would retain influence in Vantok’s affairs. The army would depart within one to two days.

In neither case would a state of war exist between the two cities, although it was impossible to predict the future course of relations. Of course, considering that Azarak was expecting an attack from the south before year’s end, he was unconcerned with a possible souring of the “friendship” between Vantok and Obis. So much for the proposed jointly-patrolled trade route he and Rangarak had negotiated at length for years. That had been close to fruition at the time of the Iron King’s death; Azarak doubted the next king of Obis would be keen to pursue the project.

The Challenge was to be held in the same clearing where the tournament had taken place only a few days earlier. A large crowd had gathered, but the immediate environs were dominated by members of Vantok’s militia and Obis’ army. The celebratory mood that had accompanied the tournament was gone; there was a palpable tension; everyone watching knew this was a duel to the death. Few in the crowd understood the reason for the fight, although there was widespread recognition that the kings were engaging in one-on-one combat to avoid a full military engagement and there was not expected to be retaliation by the losing party.