Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (10 page)

“This isn’t over,” she hissed, then exploded skyward, ripping through the tent’s roof. Sorial attempted to stop her but he lacked the stamina for his efforts to be effective. The remaining color drained from his face. Carannan watched with concern as the young man took a deep breath, exhaled as he dropped to a knee, then pitched forward onto his face.

* * *

Less than two hours later, a council session was held in Myselene’s tent. Sorial was present, although bundled in thick blankets to keep him warm. The brief conflict with his sister had come close to killing him - not because of anything she had done but because of the way he had recklessly plundered his own low energy reserves. He had been fortunate that her weakness had matched his. Had she stood her ground rather than fleeing, she might have won the day.

Myselene’s modest attire - a loose-fitting peasant’s dress - disguised much of what she had endured in Basingham’s dungeon, although the telltale bruises on her face hinted at the brutal treatment. Her demeanor was cold. Now that she was safely removed from the city, revenge was foremost in her mind. Sorial didn’t blame her. His own thoughts drifted toward payback. Some actions couldn’t be permitted to go unanswered.

They had lost Ariel. That was bad. By now, she had almost certainly rejoined The Lord of Fire - something that would make him that much harder to overcome. Magically, she was weak. He had spent enough time with her to recognize that she was near the end, but her experience made her dangerous. Even with little power, she had nearly strangled him during their brief duel. He had been expecting the attack - after all, she had employed it in their previous engagement - although not as a direct assault on his lungs. But the tiny specks of dust in his body had allowed him to breathe using a similar mechanism to the one he exploited while passing through solid rock. He didn’t understand the specifics of how it worked, only that it did.

The biggest downside of losing Ariel was that Justin now controlled air. Even if Ariel was to prove unable to fulfill the duties he envisioned for her, he could replace her at a time of his choosing. Although there was value in learning whether Lavella could hear the call of the portal, the urgency was gone. The only way she would become The Lady of Air was if Justin lost the war. Otherwise, she would die as she had lived, without ever touching magic.

“We need to make preparations to strike camp immediately,” said Gorton without preamble. “Ariel’s freedom only makes the situation here more precarious. And, once Uthgarb and his cronies have figured out what happened, they may open the gates and send the entire army of Basingham on a search-and-destroy raid.”

“I doubt Uthgarb controls the army,” said Myselene. “According to him, Durth is confined to quarters, so it’s an incomplete coup at best. He’s trying to hold on until Justin’s arrival, hoping The Lord of Fire will elevate him. Our escape has placed him in an untenable position. That will make him dangerous and unpredictable but I don’t think he has sufficient clout or contacts within the military to be able to mobilize the army for a sortie against us. Our biggest concern remains what it’s been from the beginning: Justin’s advancing force. We have to be far enough distant by the time of his arrival that running us down isn’t an attractive use of time and manpower.”

“At least we know Justin will remove Uthgarb as a threat when he arrives. The Lord of Fire isn’t the sort of person to countenance failure and your escape represents failure on a grand scale.”

“We’re not going to leave Uthgarb’s fate to chance. The man is oily and if he slips free of Justin, I don’t want to have to wonder where he’s going to surface next. If he shows up in Obis when I’m trying to rally support, he could tip the balance of power against me. Underestimating him once nearly had disastrous consequences. I won’t repeat that mistake. This is something we have to handle before we leave.”

“What you mean, Your Majesty, is that
I
have to handle him,” said Sorial. His words were slurred, making him sound like a drunkard.

“Other than using magic, can you think of a way to get to him?” asked Myselene. She hadn’t phrased her intentions as a royal command but Sorial knew that would be the next step if she sensed resistance. She needn’t have worried. Uthgarb was near the top of the list of people he wanted to eliminate. Sorial had killed for revenge before and, if he survived long enough, he was sure it would happen again.

“If this is how you see things, there’s no other way,” intoned Ferguson. “Although I believe you overvalue the danger represented by Ambassador Uthgarb. He’s a lazy opportunist who saw a chance to grab for power and overreached himself. But if you’re determined to kill him, you’ll need magic. Basingham is sealed tight and won’t open to the likes of us anytime soon. Sorial, on the other hand, should be able to enter, locate his target, and eliminate him with minimal difficulty.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” said Sorial. “I’ve got an opportunity to kill him now.”

“When can you be ready?” asked Myselene.

Sorial turned to Warburm, “How long till this drug is out of my system?”

“Assuming it be the same, or similar, to what we was givin’ yer sister, you should be in fair-ta-middlin’ condition by first light tomorrow.”

“Very well,” said the queen. “Prepare everyone for departure. Tomorrow at dawn, Sorial will enter the city to do what must be done. Once he’s back, we’ll make final preparations to leave. I’ll leave it to you gentlemen to determine logistics since you’ll be the ones leading the army and refugees north through Widow’s Pass. Sorial and I will go alone via a faster route to Obis.”

No one questioned Myselene. They hadn’t spoken in detail about the specifics of how she would reach the northern city but no one doubted Sorial could get her there quickly and safely. Gorton and Carannan had protested her going without an armed escort but she had dismissed their concerns, arguing that if a wizard couldn’t protect her, a squadron of well-armed men was unlikely to represent her salvation. She needed stealth and speed: things that Sorial, and only Sorial, could provide.

“The chain of leadership remains the same. Gorton, you have overall command of the forces, military and otherwise, from Vantok. Ferguson, you’re second in command with your primary responsibility being the non-military refugees. Carannan, as overcommander, you lead the militia and answer only to Gorton. Warburm, I’d like you to join the council as Ferguson’s aid.”

“I’d be honored, Yer Majesty.” Answering to Ferguson was a duty he had fulfilled on more than one occasion in the past.

“Carannan, I need you to name a second in the event that some ill should befall you.”

“I’ve given that some thought, Your Majesty. Many of the good men I might have chosen fell at Vantok, but a few survived. I thought to name Rexall, Sorial’s childhood friend and lately a member of your personal retinue, as undercommander.”

Sorial almost smiled at the irony. The Rexall he had grown up with would have fled screaming rather than accept such a position. But circumstances had changed them all, even Rexall. Sorial was also well aware that, of the five men who would lead Vantok’s refugees into the mountains, four had been involved, directly or indirectly, in the conspiracy that had brought him face-to-face with the portal.

“Let’s get started then,” said Myselene. “The Lord of Fire’s ax approaches to fell Basingham and we have to be gone before the first wood chips fly.”

* * *

Worse for the wear and obviously drained from her ordeal, Ariel was back. After listening to her terse, unemotional account of her time spent in captivity, Justin had sent her to Vantok to rest and recuperate. She could rejoin him when she was ready. He certainly didn’t need her for what was to come at Basingham. He wasn’t sure what to expect when his army approached the walls but it wouldn’t be anything his forces, augmented by ten djinn and a dragon, couldn’t overcome with ease. Sorial almost certainly wouldn’t choose this location to make a stand; he would be long gone. If the city surrendered, Justin might be inclined to be merciful, at least up to a point. If there was a concerted resistance, he would instigate a bloodbath the likes of which would make Vantok look like a mild chastisement.

Ariel’s return had cheered him. She was burnt out but still useful and, more importantly, her arrival gave him a second element. It felt like progress. Now, instead of needing air, water, and earth, he needed only water and earth. Alicia and Sorial. Well, he would never have those two. The opportunity for an alliance, if there could have been one, was long past. They would have to die and he would have to ensure that those who replaced them were loyal to him. And that’s where Ferguson came in.

Justin wished there was another way. He disdained the necessity of being beholden to the wizened prelate. But time, long an ally, had turned traitor. Ariel’s weakness was just another reminder of how few seasons remained in this long, laborious campaign. He saw now that he had delayed too long, that his use of heat and drought to weaken Vantok had been unnecessary. But regrets were pointless. Now it was all about finding a way to accomplish what needed to be done before time ran out. That meant swift, brutal campaigns at Basingham, Earlford, and Syre, then a Winter war at Obis. The final city, isolated Andel, was irrelevant. If Obis fell, Queen Morgoth would kneel to Justin. If he lost at Obis, it wouldn’t matter. As Vantok had been the key to the South, so Obis was the key to the North. He had known that from the beginning.

After emerging from the portal, Justin thought himself done with his old master but fate, even in a universe where the gods no longer meddled, had a sense of humor. Ferguson had suddenly become the most important person in the world for Justin. And he had to win him over. Force would be useless. Men that old, if subjected to torture, typically died before saying anything useful. That wasn’t a risk Justin could take.

Ferguson wanted power but not of a conventional sort. He didn’t crave a throne of his own. In fact, if Justin offered one, it would be rejected with a sneer. For half a century, Ferguson had thrived as a silent, invisible force - the puppeteer always pulling strings. All four current wizards, himself included, owed their magical abilities to Ferguson.

There was one thing that mattered to Ferguson and Justin understood how that could be used to persuade him to change his allegiance. It was a gamble, but the prelate had been consistent in shifting alignments if they matched his overall goal. Justin wished he had insight into the man’s mind. He knew Ferguson was more clever than he was and wondered what the prelate’s end-game was. Regardless, Justin believed he understood the prelate well enough to provide a convincing argument. And, if he could compel Ferguson to turn away from his current alliance then not only would he have a spy behind enemy lines but he would be able to put into place the final pieces of the puzzle that would smooth his path to the Otherverse.

CHAPTER TEN: THE SERPENT’S VENOM

It was dark in the dungeon but Sorial didn’t need light to see. The motes of dust in the air were all he required for vision in a place where the torches and lanterns had all been extinguished. With no prisoners left to guard, this place had been abandoned. The hole through which the rock wyrm had taken him during his escape with Myselene gaped from the shattered remains of the cell’s floor. He had returned - no longer a half-drugged prisoner desperate to escape but a full-powered wizard seeking retribution.

With some satisfaction, he noted that his clothing was intact. It was simple garb - a loose-fitting cotton robe designed to resemble the garments favored by priests. His newly sculpted leg and arm were also undamaged. The trick had worked. There was some satisfaction in recognizing that every time he used magic to travel through the ground, he would no longer have to emerge naked. This at least was more dignified.

The chief problem Sorial faced in the stygian depths of Basingham’s palace was locating his quarry. Myselene had given him a primer of how the building was laid out but he couldn’t keep it all straight. After all, he had been brought up in a stable. The Wayfarer’s Comfort was tiny compared to this place; perhaps a half-dozen inns could be crammed inside the palace. Killing Uthgarb would be easy; finding him represented the challenge. There were two ways to proceed: he could start from the top and work his way down or start from the bottom and work his way up. According to Myselene, the likelihood of Uthgarb being on one of the lower floors was slim - that’s where servants, guards, and functionaries lived. So it made sense to find a way to the roof and begin the search there. Unfortunately, since the walls were too thin to facilitate travel and Sorial couldn’t fly, that meant he would have to creep around the palace incognito. That’s where the robes and cowl became useful. He might look out-of-place but no one was likely to question him since priests were still regarded with respect even in cities like Basingham where the gods’ demise was openly acknowledged.

Sorial moved as quickly and quietly as he could through the dungeon. It was a small, dank place with perhaps a half-dozen currently unused cells. At the end of the short corridor was a narrow flight of stairs that terminated at a huge stone door. Barred on the far side, it was designed to keep anything in the dungeon from entering the palace proper in the case of a jailbreak. A quick check revealed the door and hall beyond to be unguarded. Uthgarb and his minions had been wary enough to bar the door - not much of an impediment to a wizard - but if they had truly expected him to return this way, there would have been a squadron waiting here.

There were fewer inhabitants in the palace than Sorial had anticipated. Either the coup or the impending invasion had resulted in an almost complete evacuation. Sorial’s senses told him the places to avoid - those rooms on the first floor where people were congregated. The upper levels of the building were mostly deserted - mostly, but not
completely
. There were three individuals in close proximity to each other on the top floor. Sorial decided to begin his search there. According to Myselene, only men of great importance would be on the highest level. At the moment, the most exalted individual in all of Basingham was Uthgarb the Usurper.

Sorial felt like a ghost drifting through deserted and often unlit corridors. The tap of his artificial leg against the flagstones was unnaturally loud. He located a wide staircase with little difficulty and ascended to the second floor. This was where many of the semi-public rooms were located, including the dining hall in which Uthgarb had laid his trap. As he passed the door, Sorial looked for traces of the blood of the murdered guards who had accompanied the queen. There was none. The servants had done an excellent job expunging all evidence. Those men, with no reason to expect betrayal, had been put to the sword to prevent them from coming to the aid of their queen. Sorial wondered what had become of the bodies. They hadn’t been returned to the camp for interment or burning which meant that they had likely been disposed of in an undignified manner.

Once Sorial reached the third floor, he noticed a change in the décor. The floors, even those of the hallways, were covered with plush rugs - extravagances only the obscenely rich could afford in such quantities. Elaborate tapestries adorned the walls. The doors to rooms reserved for distinguished guests were darkly stained and inlaid with intricate symbols and images. It was very different from Vantok’s comparatively plain palace. Such overt opulence was offensive to one who had spent a majority of his life in poverty. The sale of one tapestry would have fed all the visitors to The Wayfarer’s Comfort’s common room for a year.

The fourth floor was his destination. He ascended the final flight of stairs carefully, recognizing that the people whose presence he had sensed were near where the staircase opened into a large parlor. It was now apparent what awaited him: two guards outside a door with the other person inside. Uthgarb and his bodyguards? Sorial hoped so. He had never expected it to be so easy. That made him wary. “Easy” missions concerned him because that was how traps were often disguised.

The two men between him and his expected quarry stood at attention to either side of a grand door on the opposite side of the chamber. They were dressed in chain-linked mail with short swords sheathed at their hips. They looked like the typical soldiers who could be found in large numbers in any city. In his youth, Sorial had been close to a couple members of the Watch who hadn’t looked that different from these men. Their postures indicated watchfulness but Sorial couldn’t be sure. He knew that many soldiers routinely napped on guard duty while maintaining the fiction of being wide awake. All it took was practice.

Sorial would have preferred not to kill them but circumstances and a lack of time limited his options. Non-lethal means of attack were possible but they allowed for the possibility of one or both men crying out before succumbing, possibly summoning others as well as alerting his target. Eliminating them ensured silence. This time, he would be the one with the advantage of surprise.

Sorial concentrated, allowing his will to reach the two unsuspecting guards through the stone at his feet and the specks of dirt in the air. They became the focal point of twin impulses of power. In an instant, the two men collapsed like marionettes with their strings severed, their bones reduced to powder. Although neither made a sound as he died, the act wasn’t as silent as Sorial had hoped. The clanking of armor and weapons as the bodies struck the ground, although muted by the carpeting, was loud enough that it could have alerted the third man.

Sorial strode to the door as quickly as his artificial leg permitted. He used his senses to confirm that the man behind the door was still there; if he had moved, it wasn’t significantly. As he came abreast the two bodies, he felt a momentary surge of pity. A voice echoed from his memories:
In war, the innocent pay the dearest price
. Sorial couldn’t remember who had said it but the proverb was undeniably true.

Neither guard was fully dead, at least not yet, but their bodies were formless, gelatinous masses held in shape by the containment of the armor. He saw agony in their eyes as tears of blood oozed from them. Sorial was no monster; he couldn’t allow them to suffer like this. He opened the floor beneath them to receive their bodies, and then sealed all that they were, including their armor and clothing inside it. They died instantly, their remains pulverized by the power of rock reforming around them. For as long as the palace stood, those two guards would be part of its structure.

Using a wave of magic, Sorial threw open the door with a force so great that it nearly blew the mighty wooden barrier off its hinges. Behind it stood His Majesty King Durth of Basingham, his usual false smile replaced by an expression of genuine shock.

“Your Magus,” stammered Durth when he had recovered enough of his wits to speak. “I must confess that of all the people I might have expected to come knocking so loudly at my door, you weren’t among them. I expected to be rescued but not by you.” The smile returned, as cold and calculating as ever.

“I’ve come to return your city to you, Your Majesty.”

“Bah!” scoffed the king. “As long as that upstart Justin lives, it won’t be mine. What you have given me, however, is a chance to get out while my skin remains attached to my aging bones. That backstabber Uthgarb sought to make me a present to Justin and we both know how that gift-giving would have ended for me. I gather whatever plans he had for you didn’t come to fruition. Uthgarb may be good at making plans but he’s rather less adept at carrying them to their conclusion.”

“The ambassador underestimated the difficulty of holding a wizard.”

“One of the last mistakes he’ll make, I’ll warrant.”

“Where can I find him? I thought he might be in this room.”

“No, just me here, watched over by the two pox-scarred fellows who seem to have disappeared. Too bad - they weren’t a bad sort, really. As for Uthgarb, a sensible man in his position who promised something to The Lord of Fire he won’t be able to deliver would have fled for distant lands. But that lump of shit lost his sense with his balls. Plus, any sort of journey not in a carriage is impractical for a man of his size. He can’t sit astride a horse and walking from one side of a room to the other often leaves him sweaty and short of breath. No, he’s probably still here, scheming how to turn this toxic soup into something Justin might be willing to sample. Losing me is just going to make it that much more difficult for him. I’d love to see him face Justin with an empty purse.”

“If he’s still in the palace, where?”

“Try the throne room. Unless he’s co-opted someone’s quarters, that’s where he’ll be. Probably with a half-dozen guards at each entrance, if he can find that many men loyal to his cause, but odds like that shouldn’t matter to you.”

“I won’t be going in through a conventional entrance.”

“Taking him out might be doing Uthgarb a kindness.”

“You don’t know what I’ve got planned for him.”

“True, and if you don’t mind, I’m not going to stay to find out. I’m an old man but I can sit astride a horse and the sooner I get away from here, the better chance I have to eventually return wreathed in glory. Tell me, is Her Majesty safe?”

Sorial nodded.

“Good,” said Durth. “My eventual fate is entwined with hers so I have every reason to wish her the best of fortune. Remind her of our agreement and tell her I’ll see her at court once she’s secured the throne of Obis.” He spoke as if it was a foregone conclusion. Sorial wished he possessed that certainty.

The throne room was built atop the bedrock upon which the palace had been founded. Sorial intended to use that as his means of entry. While Durth packed up the few items he needed for his journey, Sorial left the royal suite and retraced his steps all the way to the dungeon. The halls and staircases remained empty; he encountered no one on his return journey. Once he was below ground, he allowed himself to melt into the earth.

He emerged into the throne room directly in front of the oversized gilt chair. Reclining there, with the soft padding cushioning his voluminous form, was Ambassador Uthgarb. As Sorial had ascertained, he was alone in the room although there were guards outside each of the two entrances. Their duty, of course, was to protect the acting ruler from external threats. Nevertheless, Uthgarb didn’t appear startled or concerned by the wizard’s unheralded appearance not more than five feet away from him. In fact, the only reaction he betrayed upon seeing Sorial rise up out of the floor was the mildly surprised elevation of one eyebrow.

“Your Magus,” he intoned politely, nodding his head in greeting. The fake smile he and Durth had in common was affixed to his bloated, waxy features. He was, however, not the least bit intimidated and that concerned Sorial.

“Let me guess - you’ve come to arrest me for the unlawful imprisonment of yourself and your pretender queen. You might be interested to know there are a dozen guards within reach of my voice who would violently dispute any action along those lines you might be inclined to take.”

Sorial shrugged, content to let this play out. He wanted to understand the reason for Uthgarb’s nonchalance. “If you call them in, the only result would be twelve dead men who might otherwise survive this day.”

“You can kill a dozen expertly trained swordsmen? What a fascinating asset you’d make. By now, I assume you’ve released that old fool Durth. My reports indicated you were headed for his quarters. He’ll run, of course, but he won’t get far. The army as a whole has divided loyalties but there a plenty of officers who have thrown in their lot with me. Dead or alive, Durth will be here as an offering to The Lord of Fire. As will you be.”

“How do you plan to convince me to be a part of your scheme?” Sorial’s greatest vulnerability was Alicia, but he knew with certainty that his wife was beyond Uthgarb’s grasp. So what cards was he holding?

Uthgarb reached over the arm of the throne. Sorial tensed until he realized the man was picking up a full gold goblet. He paused in the act of lifting it to his lips, almost as if contemplating whether or not to drink. Sorial wondered whether it might be poisoned. That would make sense of the man’s unnatural calmness. If he was going to kill himself, he had little to be concerned about from Sorial.

“When you and Myselene escaped, I worried that I might be in a very bad position when The Lord of Fire arrived. Promising things and not delivering isn’t the best way to start a relationship. I’m sure that open gates and the delivery of the king would count for something, but you’re the true prize. Yet I suspected you’d come back. The sensible thing would have been for you and your queen to quit Basingham’s environs. Even considering all your power, returning wasn’t a wise move, Your Magus.”