Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (20 page)

His goal for this initial foray was simple: listen and observe. Myselene needed to know how calm the city was, whether anyone was nominally in charge, and who the favorites were for the succession. She had given him the names of two taverns to seek out: The Flayed Courtesan near the Horse Market and The Full Gullet in a place called The Maze. The latter establishment sounded more promising but Sorial hadn’t been able to locate it. The Maze was aptly named, with dozens of tiny streets crisscrossing and many coming to abrupt stops in dead-ends. The Flayed Courtesan was in one of the rougher sections of the city but it was large and not difficult to find.

The Wayfarer’s Comfort had always been relatively empty in the afternoons, with trade generally picking up with the approach of dinnertime. It was different in Obis, or at least in The Flayed Courtesan. When he arrived in the early afternoon, every table was occupied; Sorial had to settle for sharing with a man who was so deep in his cups that he didn’t care. The room was thick with smoke from a poorly ventilated cook fire. The heat was stifling. Sorial was glad he no longer had a sense of smell - he could only imagine the rancid cocktail of odors that would have assaulted his nostrils.

The serving woman who approached his table was ripe in every way imaginable and left no doubt that, for the right price, her charms were on the menu alongside the usual beverages. She wasn’t especially friendly, merely available. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what could be had for a few brass studs; if he had been desperate, he might have been interested. Instead, he settled for a mug of warm beer. Lacking taste buds, he didn’t have to worry about how sour or watered-down it was.

Sorial’s priestly attire and stand-offish demeanor kept other patrons away. He was able to eavesdrop on a variety of idle conversations as he pretended to sip from the mug. It took a little while for him to penetrate the thick Northern accents but, once he became acclimated, he began to pick up nuggets of information. After a while, he surreptitiously spilled the contents of his mug onto the floor - considering how filthy it was, no one would notice - and ordered a second round. A different server took this order; she was even more forthcoming than the first one in terms of what she offered. She was also more attractive and favored Sorial with a gap-toothed smile. He said nothing and she got the message and left him alone. The same couldn’t be said of a drunken man who staggered over to the table and took possession of the recently vacated seat across from him.

“Afernoon, brother,” said the man, his voice slurred - a likely indication that the mug he was cradling wasn’t his first. In fact, to be as inebriated as he appeared to be at this hour, he must have gotten started with a liquid breakfast. He wore the garb of a farmer but his boots were polished rather than caked with mud and there was something odd about his demeanor. A man that drunk shouldn’t sit quite so rigidly. Sorial was immediately alert.

“Good afternoon, my son,” replied the wizard, keeping his head lowered to hide his features under the hood. It was dark in the taproom, which had only a few small windows and was lit primarily by lanterns.

“Not from around ’ere, are ye?”

“Nay, my son. I hail from the South, from Earlford.” Myselene had instructed him not to mention Vantok. It could lead to questions and prolonged discussions, neither of which was desirable.

“Bad things goin’ on in the South, I ’ear tell. Don’t give much credence to all them rumors, but they say there’s war. An’ it be a fact King Rangarak died down there unner mysterious circumstances.”

“We heard something about that in Earlford. Both the war and the unfortunate demise of King Rangarak.”

“So tell me, brother, who does your king support for the throne?” The slurring lessened considerably as this question was asked. The man’s sudden attentiveness made it obvious that his drunkenness was exaggerated or feigned.

Sorial chose his words carefully, responding as he believed a priest in his situation might. “I don’t represent Earlford and don’t pretend to know the mind of King Dax. I am but a humble itinerant priest making my way across the North on a pilgrimage.”

“That so? Reckon there’s no such thing as ‘neutrality’ in Obis these days, brother. Ya need to declare for one candidate or ’nother, else people get suspisses of ya.” Sorial didn’t miss the threat in the man’s tone.

“Since I’m new to Obis, having only recently arrived at this great city on my journey across the North, perhaps you could enlighten me as to who might be the best choice?”

“There really ain’t no doubt ’bout that, brother. Duke Otto the Third is the one with the best claim. King Rangarak hisself once said that if he didn’t have natural sons and daughters, Otto would be his choice. He’s got more’n half the military behind him so it’s only a matter of time before the Council of Nobles is forced to invest him with the crown. It’s a damned annoyance it’s taking so much time but that’s what happens when the politissans get involved. When you leave Obis on that pilgrimage of yers, let everyone ya meet know that Duke Otto’ll be the next king of Obis. No doubt ’bout that.”

“Thank you for the information. I’ll be sure to share it with any I encounter along the way, be they commoners, nobles, or royalty. It’s good to know that Obis will soon be under the rule of a fine leader.”

“Good day to ya, brother.” The man grunted with satisfaction and rose, his mug largely untouched. His gait was sure and steady as he headed for the door. Sorial watched him leave with a measure of consternation. If he had attracted the attention of that man, how many others might have noticed him and how many of those might have less savory motives than convincing him of the virtues of a candidate?

* * *

“Otto? I wouldn’t have thought him a strong or likely contender. He has no blood or marriage connections to my family. He’s a minor noble with little money or clout. He wasn’t even important enough for my father to appoint to the secondary council let alone one of the more significant advisory bodies.”

“His name was the one I heard mentioned the most. He seems to be well-liked and the man who cornered me in The Flayed Courtesan said he has a majority of the military on his side. You said the man who controls the army…”

“…is the man who holds the throne.  I know I said that. What I don’t understand is how Duke Otto gained so much influence in the military. He must be the figurehead for an alliance of men who prefer to rule from the shadows.”

“Not all that unusual in politics, I’d imagine.”

“It is in Obis where strength is needed to hold the throne. The weak find their throats cut in the night.”

“At any rate, the majority of the men in that tavern believe he’s a better choice than either General Greeg or Count Clairmont, the other two prominent possibilities.”

“I remember Clairmont. Nasty man who would rape his sisters and daughters with a hot poker if it would get him what he wants. He takes ambition to a new level. Greeg is probably the popular choice among the lower ranked men. He was part of the expedition that came to Vantok for my wedding, although he wasn’t a general at the time.

“There’s someone you haven’t mentioned who’s being whispered about in the village: a priest named Rathbone.”

Sorial shook his head. He had heard maybe nine or ten men mentioned as possible successors, but none by that name.

“A priest? Wouldn’t that be unlikely? I thought priests were devoted to their callings.”

“Under the old order, they were. But things have changed. Just look at Ferguson if you don’t believe me. If the rumors are true, Rathbone may be my most dangerous adversary. He’s not just an ordinary priest. He was placed in the order as a child to hide him. He’s my half-brother, the blood-son of Rangarak and some slattern who spent time working in the palace kitchens until my mother had her murdered.”

“I thought illegitimacy was supposed to be a hindrance to ruling a city.”

“In perfect circumstances, it is, but these are far from perfect. Many would prefer an offspring of Rangarak’s on the throne even if he wasn’t conceived by the queen. In fact, there are some who would view Rathbone’s claim - because he’s a man - more valid than mine. If I was to come forward now, I might be able to trump Otto, Greeg, and Clairmont, but Rathbone could cause me trouble.”

“So what now?”

“We assess the candidates and determine who’s our most serious threat, who might benefit from an alliance, and who might be willing to step aside if they learn I’m involved.”

“That means you’ll need me back in the city.”

“Correct. And this time I’ll be coming with you.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SCHOLARLY PURSUITS

“Fuck!” Alicia accompanied the expletive by hurling the 1000-year old manuscript halfway across the library. Her mother, ever the picture of decorum, would have been horrified by the outburst but her mentor in such things, the late Vagrum, would have encouraged her to display even more vinegar. She could almost hear him now: “Let it out, lass. Don’t bottle things up else you’ll get all dry and shriveled like a prune.” Or like her mother. Strange how the old life had faded. Thoughts of her mother and Vagrum brought on an unexpected pang of nostalgia. One dead, the other so distant emotionally she might as well have been.

“Fuck.” She said it again, this time more quietly but with greater feeling. For all she was achieving from her studies in the Yu’Tar Library, Sorial might as well have come. She could read but that didn’t mean she could
understand.
Rarely had she felt more inadequate to a task than the one at hand. Depression and irritability were her constant companions in the dim, dusty interior of a building that had stood for more than a millennium and smelled like it.

This was her twentieth day living with the strange band of inscrutable elves and visiting the library. It was difficult to ascertain which was more decrepit: her hosts or the repository of knowledge they lovingly cared for. Every day, she spent between 10 and 12 hours in this dank place, coughing on dust thrown up when she opened books and shooing away swarms of tiny flying insects that had established nests in the place. And what did she have to show for more than 200 hours of effort?
Nothing
. Well, that was an exaggeration, but far less than she had expected or hoped for. She hadn’t learned how to defeat Justin in battle. She hadn’t discovered how to break into the Otherverse. And she hadn’t divined any new ways to stretch her abilities beyond a few inconsequential tricks. Now, she could use a single drop of water and a flame to illuminate an entire room. Impressive… but largely useless on a battlefield, especially when a rival wizard controlled the fire. What’s more, she had been unable to convince the elves to teach her their brand of magic - something she desperately wanted. Their refrain was that if she was meant to know it, she’d either learn it from the Library or discover it on her own. She thought if she stayed with them long enough, they might relent. She was doing her best to use her little-girl charm on them. But time wasn’t her friend and the elves were as slow and obdurate as the trees in the forest.

“Fuck.” And she was horny. As ignoble a thought as that might be for someone on a great quest, it was the truth. It was an itch she could scratch on her own at night but there was minimal satisfaction in that. Since her marriage, she had gotten used to having sex at least once each day. Sorial called her insatiable. Now she’d gone without it for what seemed like an eternity. She repeatedly recalled her last night abed with Sorial six weeks ago and tried not to think of the nighttime activities with Myselene she had agreed to. Hopefully, that was over by now. As with every time she thought about her husband, a small worm of anxiety turned in her gut. Even though she was reasonably certain Justin’s chronology of events had been fabricated, a kernel of uncertainty remained. She needed proof and none would be forthcoming while she was locked in this magic averse territory.

With a sigh, she rose from the table where she was sitting, which was piled high with tomes and scrolls, to retrieve the volume she had tossed away in a fit of pique. Fortunately, none of the elves had witnessed the display of temper; it would have earned her a long lecture on the fragility of documents in the library. These disintegrating pages with fading ink and crumbling edges were their children. The only reason anything still survived here was because of the care they had put into preservation. Their whole purpose was wrapped up in the Yu’Tar Library. Maybe they’d once had lives outside their commission, but no longer. She was certain that if the library collapsed, they would die within weeks, if not sooner.

Alicia recognized she had no future as a scholar. All the great wise men of old had doggedly sought the answers to riddles and the solutions to puzzles. She was too impatient. She wanted easy results. She wanted to be able to read a passage and learn something new. Instead, she had to wade through page after page of useless trivia - how many sows Famer Gutman in Earlford had sold at market in a year - before uncovering something moderately interesting. The problem was that sometimes the most useful tidbits were buried under mounds of dross. She had uncovered a few useful tricks about how to enhance her healing capabilities in a scroll that was primarily devoted to agriculture.

She rubbed her eyes. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since early in the morning. She was going to waste away to nothing. What time was it? With no windows and only two lanterns to light her study area, the time of day was indeterminate. It might be noon or it might be dusk or it might be the middle of the night. She didn’t know. In a way, it didn’t matter. She was here until she discovered something that she and Sorial could use.

Otherverse
.  She was so tired she almost skipped over the passage until the word leapt out at her. She blinked and read more carefully: “The connection of our reality with that of the Otherverse must be of concern to every practitioner of the blessed arts. There is no doubt that a rift could develop in between with disastrous consequences to the worlds created by the gods. It was never meant for the raw material from either realm to cross to the other but, as Kosterbus speculated, there may be ways to exploit rifts so that unintended passage could occur.”

Alicia scribbled “Kosterbus” on a scratch pad she kept next to her. It wasn’t the first time she had encountered the name but this was the first instance in which he had been linked to the Otherverse. She leaned back in her chair, beaming happily. A lead! A sign post along a twisty road. Something solid to pursue. Her good humor diminished, however, as the volume returned to its dry and painful dissertation about how changes in temperature could affect the consistency of excrement. This time, Alicia uttered a different and more appropriate expletive: “Shit.”

* * *

It remained difficult for Justin to find a comfortable reclining position, although the pain had by now diminished to a dull ache. Alicia’s physical assault had done no serious or lasting damage, but she had broken several of his ribs and those remained sore three weeks later. Amazing that such a slip of a girl could fight with so much venom. For Justin’s aches, it didn’t help that the wagon in which he traveled constantly jostled him as it bumped along across uneven ground. This part of the road to Earlford wasn’t an easy one. A slower pace would have been less taxing but would have added a week to the trip and The Lord of Fire was anxious to begin his conquest of a third city as soon as possible. He could endure the discomfort. He didn’t have a choice.

“You look unhappy,” said Ariel, who was sharing the wagon with him. She had recovered some of her strength since her long incarceration but wasn’t the same person she had been beforehand. A gulf had opened between them that Justin couldn’t bridge. Truth be told, he lacked the will and patience to try, although he missed the woman who had once been his close confidant. The old Ariel would have scoffed at such a slow and primitive manner of travel and would have taken to the skies instead. The new Ariel preferred to use as little magic as possible, perhaps recognizing that her reserves were too low to waste on frivolous things.

“I was thinking about my meeting with your brother’s wife. Not my finest hour.” It wasn’t an encounter he liked to relive in any detail. Not only had he been undone by his own overconfidence but he had made the embarrassingly stupid mistake of believing Alicia to be responsible for the failure of his magic. Of course it had been the elves. Alicia was a neophyte who had gotten lucky. He had toyed with her too much, enjoying the chase of a frightened, helpless animal. It was a particular weakness of his - extending a game that was already won so he could savor the victory. If he had pounced quickly and decisively, she never would have made it inside the elves’ safe zone. Still, it was only a temporary reprieve. This trick of the elves wouldn’t protect her forever. In fact, it wouldn’t protect her for much longer. He had studied with the Yu’Tar group long enough to recognize what they were doing and how it could be circumvented.

“She has the luck of the gods, that one,” said Ariel. Her memories of Alicia were dim, but she knew the girl’s surprise attack had undone her and allowed her to become Sorial’s prisoner.

“The gods are dead and luck has a way of turning. It all balances out in the end. Good fortune will always turn sour and the other way around.”

“Sorial is a bigger concern. Fortune may have sustained him for a while but he’s beyond that. He’s well on the path to becoming one of us. Of the obstacles in front of us, he’s the most daunting.”

“Obviously,” replied Justin with some weariness. This wasn’t a revelation. If he didn’t know better, he might think Ariel was frightened of her brother. Perhaps
wary
was a better description, and why not? None of her recent interactions with him had turned out favorably. “He’s young, strong, and growing in power. Pity we weren’t able to eliminate him while he was still floundering. Now that he’s coming into his own, we can’t discount him. But he’s not an immediate threat. I doubt he’ll be at Earlford. He’s predictable and that makes it easier to contend with him. Unless my instincts are wrong, he’s on his way to Obis with his queen. That’s where he’ll make his stand. We have two cities to conquer before we get there. And he has a snake in his midst he’s not aware of.”

“Do you want me to scout ahead?” It was a rare overture, the first time since her return she had offered to use her powers in service of the army’s cause.

“Give it a few days. Wait until we’re closer. The djinn will watch for any potentially unpleasant surprises. If Sorial is there, we’ll know soon enough. Earlford’s military isn’t much of a concern but we’ll go into this battle as if they have a wizard fighting for them. No quarter. Maximum devastation. I wonder if I was too soft on Basingham.”

Ariel shrugged. “They surrendered. Earlford won’t, at least not at the beginning. Too many of their top generals come from Obis, where the word ‘surrender’ is synonymous with ‘craven.’”

Justin pulled back the flap in the wagon’s covering to peer outside. The terrain looked the same today as it had for weeks. There were some mountains to the south but, other than that, his army was marooned in a sea of grasslands. The good thing was that food and water were plentiful and every village they passed swelled his ranks through the conscription of new recruits. His army now boasted twelve thousand fighting men - more than at any point, even before Vantok - and two thousand support workers: cooks, whores, healers, and others whose skills didn’t extend to front-line battle.

“If Sorial was smart, he’d strike at us now, when we’re the most vulnerable. When we’re not expecting it.”

Justin frowned but he thought that possibility even less likely that Sorial being at Earlford. “He’s smart but not experienced. His thinking is linear - that of a human not a wizard. There’s a lot of damage he could have done to us by now but he’s unsure of his powers and not ready for a confrontation. He’s the Lord of Earth. He could cause an earthquake that would swallow up my entire army but his thinking is being guided by men with no experience in fighting with magic. His most innovative stroke was the trap he set outside Vantok but he lacked the flexibility to make it work after we detoured around it. We have the experience and creativity. That’s why we’ll take Earlford, Syre, Obis, and Andel.”

“And after that, what? Hasn’t the time come for you to reveal the endgame of your plan to me?” She had known for a long time that the unification of the cities was only the first step in a bigger scheme. Until now, she hadn’t pressured Justin for more information but, the weaker she became, the more curious she was about the finish line she might never reach.

“In the deepest recesses of your heart, I think you know what it is.”

“The Otherverse?” Her laugh sounded like a bark. She had known him to be ambitious and there was only one goal for the most ambitious of their kind. “You don’t think small, do you? And what makes you believe you can succeed where so many others have failed? Storied practitioners who lived in an age of magic when there were wizards aplenty to caucus with?”

“A fair question. The truth is, for ages, the possibility of entering the Otherverse was the wizards’ great quest. So many failed, however, that all but the most dedicated lost the desire. And those who learned things guarded their secrets jealously. There was no sharing. No pooling of information. But most of the wizards wrote down their mysteries and all it took was a few years of study at the Yu’Tar Library to piece everything together. Distance gives perspective. I had plenty of the former so I gained the latter. Since I found out about the Otherverse, it’s been the great purpose of my life. First, learning about it. Now, entering it. I know how to accomplish that - or at least I believe I do. I’ve known since before we met. What happens after that is anyone’s guess. Perhaps the end of the world. Perhaps my transformation into a god-like being. Perhaps nothing. Part of the thrill is finding out. And if I die, well, my time is almost up anyway. I want to end my life
accomplishing
something not waiting for the withering sickness of wizards to consume what’s left of me.”