The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (52 page)

“We’ve got to get you to safety, Your Majesty,” said Vikon, motioning for the two dozen soldiers atop the mountain to form a human shield around the king. “Ain’t safe up here. Eventually, someone’ll think to look an’ there’s only one way up and down. The smoke’ll be our friend. If we can get behind their lines, we might be able to make it all the way to Basingham, where we can rendezvous with the rest of the survivors.”

A voice spoke out of the smoke, startling them all. “All things considered, not a bad plan. It won’t work, of course. My men control the road to the bottom and the base of this ‘mountain’ is ringed by them. Escape, I’m afraid, is not among your options. Surrender or die, it makes little difference to me. The day is mine either way.”

Azarak squinted his eyes, trying to penetrate the thick smoke. There was someone there, a form just beyond the limit of his vision.

Vikon raised his sword and assumed a battle ready stance, placing himself between Azarak and the speaker.

“Do you want to fight me, little man? How typical of the military mind. Why is it there always seems to be an inverse relationship between the size of the sword and the size of the intelligence of the man wielding it? If you had dropped to one knee and sworn to serve me, I might have let you live. You could have been useful. But now...”

Vikon screamed. His sword dropped with an audible clank as he raised both hands to the sides of his head, clawing and thumping with desperation at an invisible irritant. Then, as if ignited from within, fire burst from his eyes and ears, streamed from his nostrils and mouth. Azarak couldn’t help but recall the manner of King Rangarak’s death, although this was more brutal. Mercifully, the overcommander’s cries didn’t last long. He toppled over, the skin of his head and face charred and blistered, the white of his skull visible through the blackened flesh around it.

“Now, Your Majesty, it’s long past time we met, although the period of our acquaintanceship will be regrettably short. I am Justin, The Lord of Fire and the new king of Vantok. And you are, at least for the moment, my prisoner. Fear not, however, you’re far too valuable to be kept in shackles. Instead, I have something more auspicious planned for you.”

* * *

It didn’t take Alicia long to locate Sorial. Her method of travel was more like knifing through the water than swimming; it was easier to do once she reached the ocean and could go deeper. By reading echoes of Sorial’s agony as it reverberated through underground springs and streams, she was able to pinpoint his location. She emerged from the sea at a beach less than a mile from where she believed him to be. The sun was still above the horizon, although it was sinking fast. She needed to locate him before dusk, otherwise she might spend the better part of the night blundering around in a blind search. She certainly wouldn’t risk a fire, not that she was equipped to start one.

The first thing she saw was the giant’s corpse. Whatever it was, it had died a horrible death. Its entire body was pockmarked with blackened, bloody welts, as if it had been pelted by hundreds of tiny pieces of shrapnel. The body was twisted in an odd position, the arms and legs looking to have been ripped from their sockets. The ground was scalded - not just the grass but the soil itself. Lying not far from it was a much smaller form and, the moment Alicia saw it, she lost all interest in the larger creature.

The battle that had claimed the life of Sorial’s opponent had left its mark on him. His left leg was burned off beneath the knee. His arm on the same side of the body - the one that had been a stump since Havenham - now ended in a charred knob just beneath the shoulder. Much of the skin on the left side of his body was burned and blistered. He was still alive; she knew that immediately by the rising and falling of his chest. The fire that had scorched his flesh had saved his life by cauterizing the wounds to his arm and leg. In fact, as best she could tell, he had lost little blood. That, of course, did nothing to minimize the obvious trauma he had endured. Looking at his broken frame, she understood why his pain had provoked such a powerful communication. This wasn’t the first time she had seen him injured, but it was by far the worst.

She knelt beside him. Only now did she realize how badly she had been trembling from a combination of anxiety and weariness. Even with the sun warming her skin, her teeth were chattering. But she couldn’t rest; there would be time enough for that later, or so she hoped. At the moment, she had to delve into him with her “inner vision” - see what could be seen, heal what could be healed. She knew there was nothing she could do about the arm and the leg except perhaps reduce the inflammation and soft tissue damage and dull the pain. She had never tried to salve burns before but there was no reason to believe it was beyond her capabilities.

Two hours of painstaking work later, she opened her eyes, exhaled deeply, and sat back on her haunches. She was drenched in sweat and her trembling had graduated to a violent shivering. More than anything, she needed sleep or, failing that, a swim. Her body had been stressed beyond reasonable limits, but this was war and war required extraordinary sacrifices. She had done what she was able to do to help Sorial, including soothing the areas likely to cause the most pain, but she lacked the skill to awaken him. He would have to do that on his own. And, until his awareness returned, she had to stand watch over him because there was no telling when something nasty might come for them.

She didn’t know what that... thing... was, but she was reasonably sure it wasn’t The Lord of Fire, regardless of how imposing it appeared. More likely, it was something Justin had conjured or summoned, and that led Alicia to one inescapable conclusion: they had been duped. They had been lured out here into a trap; he had fooled them into thinking he was here when, in all likelihood, he had always been with the army. Once they had left, he would have had the freedom to attack as he chose without concern about a magical reprisal. They had thought to keep him away from the conflict; he had turned the tables on them.

She glanced toward the rising moon. Even if she had been able to act in some meaningful way to alert Azarak, it was too late. The battle was likely over by now, Justin having acted to ensure a favorable result. Her father was probably dead. The king had either joined him or had been taken prisoner, if Justin was taking prisoners. The city where she had grown up, the place she called home, was being sacked and pillaged, its citizens raped and killed. The worst-case scenario had come to pass. She wanted to weep with the frustration of it all, but she was too tired.

“You found me.” Sorial’s voice was faint. He sounded old and beaten down. Alicia had to bend to hear him. Her unbound hair brushed his face and chest as she leaned close. Drops of moisture - perspiration and tears - dripped onto him. “Thought for sure I was going to die. How bad is it?” His eyes were slits as if he was squinting against a bright light even though the only illumination came from the silvery orb of the moon.

“Bad,” she said. No point hiding the truth. “But that thing is dead.”

“Figured out its secret.” There was a hint of satisfaction in the way he said that. “I could control the earth inside of it, but I had to touch it. Had to brave the fire. It hurt so badly... And now the pain seems to be mostly gone, along with some body parts. Fortunate I only lost a leg. Strange. Feels like the foot’s still there. It was like that with the hand too at first. I guess I’ll get used to it. If I live long enough for it to matter.”

It was then that her control snapped, the tension and exhaustion overwhelming her in a cascade. The shivering and shaking became more pronounced, she started to sob hysterically, and she vomited up the contents of an empty stomach. When the paroxysm passed and she regained control of her body, she found Sorial cradling her against him with his good arm. He was murmuring comforting words and using the heat of his body to warm her. When had it gotten so cold?

When she was finally calm enough to speak, she choked, “Vantok... I left them undefended. And The Lord of Fire was there all along, wasn’t he?”

Sorial nodded. “He pulled the strings and we danced. Although I don’t think he expected me to kill his pet. That will come as a nasty surprise, I’m sure. But a minor one considering the victory he’s sure to win. We were outmaneuvered. Our city is lost as a result and a lot of our friends are dead. But we have to remember: this ain’t the end of the war.”

She heard his words but they rang hollow. She knew he was right. Justin’s campaign had just begun. There would be other opportunities to stop him. But, at the moment, none of that seemed to mean much. With the fall of Vantok, everything else - the other cities, Justin’s desire to control a conclave of wizards, The Otherverse - seemed unimportant. She could easily have died today, and that would perhaps have been the kinder route.

* * *

Aided by a djinn and two score of his most tenacious human fighters, The Lord of Fire took the king into custody and bound him. He then ordered those on the mountain who stood with Azarak to be put to the sword. The executions were swift and painless but bitter for the helpless king to watch. After that, a blow from a club to the back of his skull made Azarak compliant for some time.  He awoke tied to a pole in the middle of the arena where he had fought Grushik. In fact, he was within twenty feet of the spot where his life had nearly ended that day. He recognized the irony but wasn’t in a position to appreciate it.

He was naked. His arms were bent back behind the pole, a six-inch thick section of tree, and lashed together at the wrist with hemp rope. His legs were tied at the ankles but bound only to each other, not to the stake. The side of his head throbbed where he had been struck. He knew it would be sore to the touch. The persistent pain behind the temple, he suspected, would be among the least of his problems.
Nothing like a beheading to cure a headache
. Although, considering the setup, that didn’t seem to be Justin’s intended method of execution.

He was being watched. Faces, none familiar and all hostile, stared out of the smoky gloom at him. Their expressions varied - grim, avaricious, angry, vengeful - but none gave Azarak cause to be optimistic. The dwindling sunlight was a testimony to the arrival of dusk. He had been unconscious for perhaps four hours, maybe less. The normal scents of Vantok, so familiar to him, had been obliterated; everything stank of fire and ashes. He noticed soot staining the clothing and skin of many of the men watching him. Above and beyond the buildings comprising the arena’s perimeter, he could see flashes of ruddy light - ghostly flickers of fire reflected against the low-hanging clouds of smoke. Parts of Vantok were ablaze.
Fitting for the new domain of The Lord of Fire
.

A circle had been cleared around Azarak. Although hundreds, perhaps even thousands, had gathered, none came closer than fifty feet until one man stepped forward to address him.

The thing that surprised the king the most about his opponent was how frail he appeared. Atop Mount Vantok, Azarak had only glimpsed The Lord of Fire. Now, he saw him as clearly as the failing light would permit. He looked no different from any other man; had Azarak encountered him in the street, he wouldn’t have given him a second look. Justin was weak, sickly, and appeared older than his actual age. There was nothing about him, except perhaps his deep, resonant voice that marked him as a wielder of great powers. In a way, the ordinariness was almost disappointing.

“Welcome back to wakefulness, Your Majesty. We couldn’t proceed without your attendance and attention.” Justin’s voice dripped with sarcasm and contempt. There would be no mercy here. His eyes, deep brown with hints of orange flickering in the pupils, were hard and cold.

Azarak chose to remain silent. What was there for him to say at a time like this? He was entirely in this man’s power. Even if he could break free of his bonds - an option made impossible by the weakness in his shoulder - where could he go with an entire army ringing him?

“I’m sure you wonder about your army. Understandable - a commander’s first thought is always for those who serve under him. Those that survive - small bands, mostly - are scattered in all different directions. A good many had the misfortune to fall victim to the trap you constructed to ensnare my army. Final casualties were fairly heavy, I’m afraid. It’s difficult to be precise but you lost perhaps six thousand. Most of them burned at the hands of my djinn or experienced a firsthand encounter with a dragon. I can’t take credit for that ally - he was brought to me by the djinn’s king.”

Azarak closed his eyes and bowed his head. To an onlooker, it might have appeared he was praying.
Six thousand
. Three quarters of his army.
So many dead in service of a debacle
. And this was a battle he had thought would be close. His ineptitude, his inexperience, his lack of vision had brought them to this. There had been ample opportunity to plan. He had known for years that this invasion was coming. The result couldn’t have been worse. Even with Sorial and Alicia at his side to the end, he doubted the eventual outcome would have been much different. Justin and his allies were too strong. His arrogance and lack of respect for the enemy had led him to this point.

“For me, Vantok is but a stepping stone. A small bridge to greater conquests. Few of those will require battles the likes of the one fought here, although Obis will be a challenge. I’ve been ruthless in this first engagement so I can be generous in the future. Once word has spread of what transpired this day in Vantok, armies will quail to face me on the field of battle. Towns and cities will surrender. I’ll be welcomed as a great force for unification rather than a tyrant. Still, for Vantok to be a proper object lesson, I must take full possession of it. Yes, quarters are burning now, but enough will remain. The palace is mostly untouched, as is the temple. Not that any of the priests will be left alive to use it as a place of worship. It appears none of those pious fools made good their escapes with the obvious exception of the prelate. But I never expected to meet my old master in this setting.