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

Myselene said nothing.

“As I thought. Ambassador Uthgarb and several of my other advisors believe I should treat with the enemy: seek reasonable terms and surrender to him. Handing you over would undoubtedly be part of the deal. As long as you live, Justin’s position on the throne of Vantok is insecure and the fact that he hasn’t destroyed the city means he intends to rule it. Tell me, Your Majesty, are the rumors of your pregnancy true?”

“They are,” lied Myselene.

“All the more reason Justin needs you under his control, or dead.”

“But you see a danger in that course.”

“You’re perceptive. I’m not like King Azarak. The nobility that afflicted him and led to his death hasn’t settled in my bones.  Don’t misunderstand: I care about my people. But I don’t intend to be a martyr. The moment I surrender Basingham to The Lord of Fire, my life is forfeit. Oh, it won’t be part of the agreement. Justin will claim that I can rule as long as I submit to him but he’ll eliminate me at the first opportunity. I would in his position and I have no doubt he’s at least as ruthless as I am - probably more. So I’m not inclined to surrender to The Lord of Fire unless there’s no alternative.”

“It seems inevitable that, no matter what you do, The Lord of Fire will take Basingham.”

“My city is lost,” admitted Durth. “The Lord of Fire was born here and, even if we capitulate, he’ll grind us under his heel. What concerns me most is safeguarding my person and assuring my future. To that end, I have a simple proposal.”

Myselene knew what was coming but she kept her expression neutral.

“Do you plan to challenge for the throne of Obis?”

“My chancellor advises me to do so.”

For the first time during the conversation, Durth’s smile slipped. “Come now, Your Majesty! Don’t bandy words with me. Do you intend to take your father’s crown?”

“It’s likely,” admitted Myselene.

“Then here’s my proposal. In exchange for my promise not to hand you and your unborn heir over to The Lord of Fire regardless of the consequences of refusal to Basingham, I require that you provide me a promise of sanctuary at Obis once you have the throne. Furthermore, as long as I live, I’m to be recognized by your government as the rightful king of Basingham regardless of who actually wears the crown.”

“You’d have me make promises for a city I don’t hold?”

Durth’s smile had returned. “If you should fail in your bid to seek the throne of Obis, I’ll have to seek an accommodation elsewhere. It’s a worthwhile gamble. Do we have an agreement?”

At the very least, this made it less likely that Durth would confine her for use as a bargaining chip with Justin. A pragmatist, he recognized that his days as Basingham’s king were numbered while The Lord of Fire survived. From that perspective, the agreement made sense for him: hole up in the strongest human habitation, hope Justin could be thwarted, then use the alliance with Obis to help him retake Basingham. “Very well,” said the queen. “We have an agreement. Will any of the invisible ears listening spread word of this to parties who wouldn’t be pleased?”

Durth’s smile widened. “For this room, the only ones listening are sworn to secrecy on an oath of personal service. You may be assured word of what we have discussed won’t circulate. Now, let’s talk about the role Lord Sorial may play in the upcoming hostilities that now appear certain to erupt between my fair city and the invader to the south.”

* * *

Although the sun was shining brightly, it was dim within the close confines of the covered wagon where Ariel was being kept. It took Sorial’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the lower level of light. This was the first time he had visited his sister since her departure from Vantok. She looked much the same: emaciated, desiccated, and far older than her actual age. Her scarred and pox-riddled appearance was more that of a corpse than a living, breathing wizard.

“She be awake,” said Warburm from where he was watching from just outside the flap to the back of the wagon. The big man looked different in the boiled leather armor he had acquired somewhere along the way. He was no longer the obese, boisterous innkeeper who had raised Sorial from childhood to the cusp of being a man. Over the years, his hair had thinned out and gone gray. The trip to The Forbidden Lands had reduced his enormous girth and his few seasons in The Wayfarer’s Comfort since his return hadn’t been long enough for the fat to reassert itself. His appearance was more like that of the great adventurer he had once been than the popular man behind the bar who never ran dry of stories or watered-down ale.

As if in response to Warburm’s voice, Ariel’s eyes fluttered open. Sorial had asked that her next dosing of the drug be delayed. He wanted to speak with her although he was uncertain whether there was anything she would, or could, tell him. The danger was that when her mind and memory became sharp enough for her to respond to his questions, she might then be able to use her magic. That couldn’t be permitted. Ferguson had argued vociferously against allowing Ariel to regain any semblance of consciousness but she was Sorial’s personal prisoner and his decisions regarding her were final, as was his responsibility for them.

Ariel tried without success to focus her rheumy eyes. Sorial reached out and took one of her skeletal hands in his. The flesh was cold and clammy, skin on bone. It was amazing that she was still alive, but as aggressively as magic could eat away at the body, it helped life to cling to what little was left.

“Getting daring, I see,” she said. The voice was as brittle as dry leaves being crushed underfoot. It was so faint that Sorial had to bend close to her mouth to hear her.

“I’m guessing it’ll take a period of recovery before you’ll be able to start working magic.” Or at least that’s what he was hoping.

“A long period. The way I feel now, I couldn’t even conjure a thin breeze. Even if I could concentrate, there’s no stamina left. This body’s finished. Has been for a long time but I didn’t want to admit it. Kill me and get it over with. It would be a kindness.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that your Lord of Fire won his first battle. Vantok has fallen.” Warburm gave Sorial a sharp look when he told Ariel this but he saw no reason to keep the information from her.

“Doesn’t much matter anymore, at least to me. I’m just a placeholder till the next Lord or Lady of Air can be found. I guess I’ve had a good run - everyone thought I died about twenty years ago.”

“Would you be willing to talk about his long-term plans?”

“There’s nothing I could tell you that you don’t already know. Justin didn’t let me in on his strategies. All he told me was that he intended to start his sweep across the continent with Vantok. From there, it’s pretty evident where his path will take him.”

“A Winter war in the North?”

Ariel managed a shrug; it was a brittle gesture. “He’s the Lord of Fire. He can keep his men warm enough that they won’t freeze to death. Climate isn’t a concern for him. Would have been even less if he still had me.”

“Did he ever talk about the Otherverse?”

“Every wizard talks about the Otherverse at one time or another. He mentioned it in passing. Some idle speculation about what it might be like to control the raw power rather than the filtered variant. Justin thinks it’s the filtering that causes the degeneration experienced by wizards - a control put in place by the gods to limit us.”

“No plans about it?”

“No. He might have them. Justin has an abundance of schemes and plots I wasn’t privy to, and he’s trusted me less recently since he learned how I mishandled you. But he never discussed anything specific related to the Otherverse with me. Now, are you going to kill me or am I to continue in this state of muddled consciousness and long dreams?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay alive for at least a little longer. Warburm will still be here to keep you company.”

“Nice for us both, I’m sure. Don’t wait too long, little brother. The longer you keep me around, the greater the chance that something will go amiss. And if I somehow regain my powers, this captivity isn’t something I’ll remember fondly. I made the mistake of not killing you when I had the chance. My advice is that you not return the favor. I know your weakness and you can be sure I’ll go after
her
first. If you’re going to play Ferguson’s games, you’d better have a spine of iron and a heart of stone. Maybe as The Lord of Earth, you have those things, but I doubt it. You love your little wizard bride too much and that love will be your downfall.”

Sorial waited until Warburm had administered Ariel’s next dosage of the drug before departing. He wandered the camp aimlessly for a while, testing out his new leg and pondering his sister’s words. She had been unhelpful on the subjects of Justin’s plans and the Otherverse; if he was to learn more about them, it would have to be directly from The Lord of Fire. But her admonition and threat had unsettled him. True, she was no danger in her current state and, even if she regained the ability to control magic, he wondered whether she could marshal sufficient energy to be a peril. To underestimate her was foolish. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should kill her immediately. But Sorial wasn’t ready to cede a wizard to Justin. He had to get the Lady Lavella to the Ibitsal portal as soon as possible to test her potential. Then perhaps he could finally grant his sister the surcease she desired.

CHAPTER THREE: THE EMISSARY

Intimacy was difficult in a setting like the one in which Sorial and Alicia found themselves.  Although they had a small tent to call their own and were isolated in the “command” section of the refugee camp, the circumstances weren’t ideal for more than catching a few hours of fitful sleep. As a result, their coupling was brief and fundamentally unsatisfying. They fumbled and groped and ground against each other in the dark, trying to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, always aware of the many people passing by outside. Added to that, it was a hot, sticky night in the height of Summer; the air within the tent was unbearably close with the flap closed.

Once Sorial had climaxed, they separated and lay side-by-side on their backs, listening to each other’s breathing over the general hubbub of the camp. Sorial reached out his right hand to clasp her left. They were both aware of how short their time together was. There was no guarantee their future paths would converge once she set off on her journey to the Yu’Tar library. Acknowledging the fragility of what they had kept them both awake, desperately clinging to these last hours.

“You need to figure out a way to pad that leg,” said Alicia once it was apparent neither of them was going to get much sleep. “I have bruises up and down my thigh from it.”

Sorial chuckled. Sex for the first time with the stone replacement had been awkward. There were ways to make it more flexible and mobile, but he couldn’t do anything about its hardness. After all, rock was rock. “Wait till you see what I have planned for the arm.” There was no reason to fuse a stake of stone into his left shoulder unless it could serve a purpose but he had conceived a situation in which such an appendage could be useful. The next time he came up against a djinn, he didn’t intend to sacrifice any of his flesh.

“Just make sure you keep this intact,” she reached between his legs. After saying that, she became strangely subdued. Even in the dark, Sorial could sense her change in mood.

“We’ll get through this,” he said, trying to be encouraging. “We’re both wizards after all.”

She let out a long, loud sigh. “Every time we separate, you lose some part of your body. I’m wondering how much will be left when I get back.” Sorial couldn’t tell whether it was gallows humor or a serious concern. Maybe both.

“I hate duty,” she said finally. She sounded close to tears. “I know we have it much better than so many in this camp, but… Damn Justin for starting this war. Damn Ferguson for getting people thinking about wizards’ bloodlines. And damn Azarak for dying.”

Sorial didn’t think she was making much sense. Rambling, trying to find blame for their current situation in a universe where the gods could no longer be held culpable.

He turned her face toward him, leaned close, and gently kissed her on the forehead then the lips. It was a long, lingering caress. The action seemed to calm or reassure her. When she next spoke, her voice was stronger. “There’s a way we can stay in touch, I think. I can ‘imprint’ some water in a way that will enable me to connect with it by concentrating. Spread out in a shallow basin, we can use it as a conduit for communication. Distance shouldn’t be an issue. I wish I’d thought of this before you went off to face the efreet.”

“I could probably do something similar with earth.” Sorial considered how it might be possible. No immediate solution came to mind.

“No doubt. When you killed the efreet, I felt your pain through the ground. It reverberated from rock into water, so I believe you could find a way to communicate over long distances. The same may be true of Justin. Any time there’s a fire, we have to assume he could be watching.”

“That’s a disconcerting thought.” The kind of tactical advantage that could impart… Maybe it explained why the invading army had bypassed the complex trap Sorial and Alicia had devised. They had assumed betrayal by a spy or informant, but maybe Justin had been able to divine their intentions by gazing through a torch or lantern.

“Using water is clumsy and if it’s spilled, we’d lose the connection, but at least it provides a way to keep in contact. And if I learn something, I can tell you immediately rather than waiting until I return.”

They lapsed into silence after that, content simply to lie close to one another for the remainder of the night. When the first rays of dawn arrived to drive back the darkness, it was too soon for either of them. But they had no choice other than to face the new day. Hating duty didn’t dispel their responsibilities to it.

By noon, Sorial was on his own. Before departing, Alicia attended a lengthy private meeting with the queen from which she emerged grim-faced. Then she and Sorial set up the “mirror” and tested its efficacy. Myselene granted them an empty tent in which to locate the shallow ceramic basin filled to the brim with ordinary well water. The connection Alicia established made it special. It would be watched over every minute of every day so Sorial could be notified when she initiated contact.

No announcement was made about Alicia’s departure; only the council members and a few others knew she was going. Consequently, she was able to slip away without ceremony. Sorial accompanied her to a sheltered cove north of the city’s environs where they kissed and embraced before she divested herself of her clothing and entered the water. She vanished beneath the surface following directions provided by Ferguson. She felt it would be easy to locate the distant continent; finding the structure might be more challenging, although Ferguson had said it was near the coast. How long the trip would take was an open question. By ship, transportation required a half-season. Alicia didn’t know how that would translate to her mode of travel, but Sorial was prepared to be without her for a long spell. It might be Winter before her return, if she returned at all.

Sorial wandered through the camp, nodding when someone greeted him but paying little attention to the activities around him. People were doing their best to make this a temporary home, perhaps unaware of how short-lived their time here would be. Once the Lord of Fire’s army began moving, the camp would have to be abandoned. How far in the future was that? Maybe three or four weeks, perhaps less. How many, he wondered, would follow Myselene into the North and how many would remain behind, tired of running away, and try to live under Justin’s rule?  Sorial the stableboy would have chosen the latter.  Sorial the wizard had no choice in the matter. His fate was set and it would likely end in a direct confrontation with Justin - a confrontation he wasn’t currently equipped to win. All his hopes rested with Alicia’s journey bearing fruit and it frustrated him that there was nothing he could do to aid her. As an illiterate boy spearing straw with a pitchfork, he could never have imagined that learning his letters might hold the key to his future prosperity. He was determined that, if he and Alicia survived this war, he would learn reading and writing.

His path took him to the tent where her mirror was situated. As the queen had promised, a guard was on duty, although Sorial started with surprise when he recognized Rexall, his childhood friend and the current head of Myselene’s personal retinue. Their relationship, once a solid friendship, had deteriorated after Sorial learned of Rexall’s covert activities performed on Ferguson’s behalf, but the ice was thawing. Rexall had been earnest in his attempts to regain Sorial’s trust and the young wizard was desperate for the companionship of someone willing to be with him for who, not
what
, he was.

“Is she of the acid tongue gone?” asked Rexall, his cockeyed smile touching both his lips and green eyes. He was dressed slovenly for a soldier, with his ill-fitting leather breastplate not firmly cinched and his helmet altogether absent, revealing a thick tousle of red hair. Not that anyone was overly concerned about appearance. Many of the surviving eight or nine hundred of Vantok’s militia were worse garbed.

Sorial grunted. “Next time we see her will be in this mirror.”

“Any idea how long till she makes contact?”

“She said she’d check in occasionally so we might hear from her in a few days. The only thing she needs is water and she’ll be surrounded by it for a while.” At least Sorial didn’t have to worry about Alicia being in danger during the sea crossing.  She was, after all, mistress of the water and all the creatures in it. The apprehensions experienced by even the most stalwart of ocean-faring ship captains - storms, sea monsters, drowning - didn’t apply to his wife. Even if she became lost or disoriented, she could call on the beasts of the deep to redirect her. The ocean for her was like the underground for him - though it might be dangerous or terrifying to others, he found it serene and comfortable. His concern for Alicia would begin when she emerged from the water to finish the journey in a strange, mostly uncharted land.

“We can’t reach her?”

“No. For us, this is just a basin with a few skins of water poured into it. The magic comes from her.” Perhaps he should have worked harder to discern a way by which earth communication was possible. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“Are you ready to fight without her?”

Actually, apart from the confrontation with Ariel, he had yet to fight
with
her. “I ain’t got no choice, Rex. Justin ain’t gonna to sit at Vantok much longer. He’s in a hurry. He can’t afford to wait seasons for his army to be restocked. By the time Alicia gets back, the fate of the South will have been determined.”

“You sound like it already has been.”

Sorial cast his eyes downward. Aside from Alicia, no one knew him as well as Rexall. “The odds ain’t good. The best hope is that we weaken Justin along the way so when the decisive battle comes, we’ll have a shot at victory. There have only ever been two conflicts of importance and we lost the first one. We’ve got to learn from that and apply those lessons to the second one.”

“Would it really be that bad to live under Justin’s rule?  I mean, I don’t agree with how he’s going about things but ain’t it a worthy goal to unite all the human cities under the control of a quartet of wizards? Ain’t that the kind of thing that would make sense in the absence of the gods?”

“If that was Justin’s true motivation, I might agree.  But he’s after something else. If he fails at the very end or succeeds and unleashes power he ain’t able to control, existence won’t be an option. There ain’t no gods to curb him. Not even he knows what’ll happen once he makes his goal. At the best, we’ll all be praying to Justin. At the worst, we won’t have to worry about praying or doing nothing else.”

“So that’s why Ferguson ain’t backing him. I wondered about that since it seems like The Lord of Fire’s worldview matches Ferguson’s.”

“Our vice chancellor understands what’s at stake. It’s also a matter of ego. I can’t see Ferguson bowing before one of his former underlings. He set himself up as the architect of the new order; giving up that position to Justin don’t seem likely.”

“Ferguson bowing before anyone might seem unlikely but if he’s committed to the cause before all else…”

“For better or worse, he’s tethered himself to Alicia and me. I think he’s irritated we ain’t as easily manipulated as he expected. Ferguson’s vision of the future was that there would be four wizards following his guidance. I think he’s still pursuing that goal. The likelihood is that he’ll die before things progress that far.”

“He’s the healthiest 100-year old man I’ve ever seen.”

Sorial scowled.

“Do you think Sussaman is small enough for Justin to overlook?”

Sorial heard the slight catch in Rexall’s voice.  “I thought you said she didn’t mean much to you?” He was referring to Shiree, a girl Rexall had avoided marrying during his recent excursion to the North.

“I never said that. I just don’t want to be shackled to her for the rest of my life. But I’d like to know she’s safe. And maybe see her again some time.”

“Justin almost certainly knows about Sussaman from his time as Ferguson’s apprentice. I doubt a village that size fits into his plans, though.” Sorial could envision a scenario in which Justin blasted Sussaman out of existence from spite but he didn’t mention that to Rexall.

“I suppose we’ll be going north soon enough anyway.”

“We will?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. The queen needs to find a power base and the only one left is Obis. It’s the obvious move.”

So it was. And if Rexall, who was relatively inexperienced in political matters, recognized that, then so did everyone else across the continent. Including Justin. Especially Justin.

* * *

Sorial was tossing and turning in a light sleep when he was interrupted by Overcommander Carannan. “Your Magus, Her Majesty has requested your presence at an emergency war council being held within the city. Apparently, there’s been a development.”

Sorial dressed quickly and mounted the horse Carannan had brought with him.  They set off at a gallop - an indication there was urgency in the mission. At a guess, Sorial imagined Justin had shown his hand. It wasn’t a surprise.

The council room was larger and more crowded than the small chamber in which King Azarak had conducted his private meetings. In additional to the newly arrived Sorial and Carannan, Vantok was represented by Myselene and Gorton. A large contingent was present from Basingham, including various generals and high-ranking nobles and, of course, King Durth. A hush fell over the room with Sorial’s entrance. Although the wizard had officially been “made available” to help with the defense of Basingham, few in the room had previously seen him face-to-face. He wondered how many of them doubted his powers; worldwide acceptance of the return of magic remained a hope for the future rather than a reality of the present. Many who hadn’t seen Sorial in action doubted his ability to do more than the most basic conjuring tricks.