Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (43 page)

They aimed at different djinn - one to Alicia’s immediate right and one directly in front of her. Although the rock wyrms possessed hides so resilient that steel couldn’t puncture them, they weren’t designed to endure the extremity of their targets’ heat. The power of their upward thrusts ensured that, even though they burst into flame on impact and were rapidly consumed in fire, their momentum couldn’t be halted. They crashed into the djinn, bearing them to the ground even as they succumbed. Alicia took advantage of the situation, weaving a thread of vapor to the unaffected djinn and stealing away every drop of internal water. Like the one killed by her physical touch, it withered and collapsed - a dry, empty sack. Now, there were only two, and they were wounded and disoriented.

She might have been able to succeed on her own but circumstances provided her with more aid, removing all doubt from the situation. She heard the soldiers before seeing them. They topped the nearby rise to come face-to-face with the struggling djinn, both of which were disentangling themselves from the rock wyrms’ smoking remains. Rotgut’s men didn’t hesitate. Slings went into action and the air buzzed with tiny rocks being propelled toward the creatures. Having seen Sorial’s demonstration, Alicia knew what to expect when the fist-sized stones contacted the djinn. Shock sent the injured creatures into pain-induced rage. Their confusion about which enemy was the greater threat proved to be their undoing. Alicia was merciless in finishing the job.

A glance in his wife’s direction revealed her current situation to Sorial. Justin’s back was to her but he almost certainly knew his djinn were in dire straits in much the same way Sorial recognized that the two rock wyrms were dead. Now was the time to risk all, to throw himself completely into the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, he poured himself into every bit of rock, dust, and dirt in the vicinity and turned it against Justin. It was the most powerful and draining magical endeavor he had ever attempted. From a technical perspective, it was immensely wasteful, but it was also effective. Justin found himself assailed from all sides in all ways. The ground beneath him heaved, quaked, and spewed rocks. Dust particles in the air gathered speed and assailed his fire shield. Dirt and stone and metal targeted him from every direction. He was at the center of a maelstrom, in danger of being extinguished. In this, the Lord of Fire saw his opponent’s ultimate gambit: use an avalanche of earth to extinguish his flame. Bury him, crush him, and suffocate him. It was an amazing display but it was just that - a display. Justin was too experienced to be undone by this. Sorial had poured so much into this attack that his neglected shields were at the point of collapse. The way to end this was to respond in kind.

Justin’s counterattack was intended to be devastating, a display of power the likes of which he hadn’t employed in many years. He took two steps forward and entered the bonfire, drawing on its power to amplify his natural abilities. The vitality of the flames coursed through him. Then, in a catastrophic instant, everything changed. The act of merging with the fire, the most natural of actions for him during his quarter-century’s tenure as a wizard, represented a fatal mistake.

Alicia, after killing the last of the djinn, watched the confrontation between her husband and their enemy reach its climax. As Justin entered the fire pit, she invoked the void. Sorial’s earth attack fell apart as did Justin’s protection. Standing in the midst of a healthy bonfire from which his flesh bore no immunity, he became fuel for the blaze. Screaming, he stumbled away from the flames, flesh and clothing ablaze, the stench of burnt meat ripe in the air. After staggering several paces, he fell to the ground, seeking solace from the coolness there.

Sorial moved quickly to his opponent’s side, unconcerned about leaving himself open to attack; Justin no longer possessed the capacity to do him harm. Despite being charred almost beyond recognition as a human being, he lived, although not for long. One didn’t have to be a wizard to discern the extent of his injuries. As Sorial knelt beside him, one blackened hand clawed at his arm. Most of the flesh was gone, leaving only skeletal fingers. Sightless eye sockets, their orbs burned away, turned in his direction as if attempting to focus. He wasn’t sure Justin was aware of his presence and, if he was, whether it mattered.

The voice that emanated from the lipless mouth was faint, brittle, and suffused with pain. The words were rambling and barely coherent. “
He who lives by fire shall die by it
.
Its warmth and light shall immolate and scald.
” Sorial recognized it to be a quote although he didn’t know the source. “The clean death I offered prisoners and opponents of honor, I claim for myself. So close… so close. Seek out Ferguson’s copy of
The Balance of All Things
. Read it without prejudice and it will show the way.”

Then, with a sound that was a cross between a hiss and a rattle, The Lord of Fire breathed his last. Justin was dead but the Otherverse loomed larger than ever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE PERIL OF OBIS

Sorial was in considerable pain but, even considering his level of physical discomfort, he continued to squat next to Justin’s corpse, wondering why there were tears streaming down his cheeks, stinging the raw skin with their saltiness. Perhaps it was because he saw future echoes of himself in The Lord of Fire. Sorial hadn’t agreed with the dead wizard’s means but he could understand them. Justin had strived for the ultimate pinnacle of magic and fallen short.

High above, the sky was clouding over as a storm moved in from the northwest. By the time it arrived, the situation at Obis would be resolved. Carrion birds were already wheeling low in great numbers, anticipating a feast. Sorial suspected none would come close to this site, however. There was plenty of food here but the area reeked of eldritch power - something to which animals had greater sensitivity than humans.

Had circumstances been different, Justin might have been viewed by history as one of the great wizards. But he had lost his gambit and died alone, surrounded by his enemies, and they would be the ones to pass on the stories. Future generations would see him as an instigator and a villain - a wizard corrupted by power and ambition who had done terrible things. Azarak would be the hero of the tale, the one who had died standing up to the monster. As for Sorial, his own role was yet to be determined. Defeating Justin wasn’t enough. If he failed in what came next, those future generations might not exist to tell exaggerated tales about what transpired on this day.

Sorial felt a profound sense of sadness imagining Justin’s isolation. Other than Ariel, there had been no one, no real connection to humanity. No one for him to love or who had loved him in return. Servants and sycophants aplenty, but no genuine friends. Despite being the most powerful living being to walk the land for a quarter-century, his only bedfellow had been power. What a bitter pill Justin had swallowed: after engaging in the most forlorn of quests, he had been forced to bequeath his life’s goal to his vanquisher with his dying breath.

“We need to get away from here, out of the void so I can lift it,” said Alicia, her voice thin and weak. She sounded like he felt.

Sorial nodded, rising slowly. Everything hurt, making movement a chore, but the injuries weren’t serious. He distractedly accepted a blanket from one of the soldiers, only now realizing he was stark naked, his clothing having been burned away. It was uncomfortable allowing the rough muslin to scrape his abused flesh but better than freezing to death. Away from Justin’s slowly dying bonfire, it would be brutal, especially if the rapidly developing storm brought snow.

He looked at his wife. Like him, she was bundled against the elements. Her skin was as blistered as his and, although much of her crown of wheaten hair had survived, she had no eyebrows. She looked tired and much, much older than an hour ago. Her battle with the djinn had permanently marked her: her left arm ended inches below the elbow. On this occasion, her suffering had been more acute than his but she was bearing up better. She was right; they had to get beyond the void’s field. Once they had access to magic, they could heal what needed to be healed, restore the conduit surrounding Obis, and return to the city. Justin’s death wouldn’t stop the attack and invasion. It assured Andel’s safety but not Obis’. Right now, the streets of the great city were running red with blood.

“How far?” asked Sorial.

“About five miles. Difficult to say for sure. We’ll know when we get there if we don’t freeze along the way.”

Sorial grimaced. It was going to be a long, unpleasant trek with his leg a lifeless lump of rock. Perhaps the best approach would be for her to go alone with the guards. He could stay behind, hunkering down with the dead and waiting for magic to return. It was then that he caught a glimpse of the remains of the rock wyrms - twisted and blackened, barely recognizable. It seemed incredible that such mighty creatures, seemingly indestructible, could be so thoroughly broken. His vision again swam with tears. Strange that he should experience such a deep grief for these creatures when the passing of human acquaintances of longer standing hardly touched him. He tentatively reached out with his mind, searching for the familiar consciousness of the rock wyrm and, as expected, found only emptiness. There was nothing there; it had moved on to wherever creatures of its ilk went after death.

“Go on ahead,” he said, his voice rough. He couldn’t bring himself to say more. Their bodies would be his companions in the cold.

Alicia, who saw the direction of his gaze, instinctively knew what he was feeling even though she had never bonded strongly with any creature of water. Sorial and the rock wyrm had been companions for more than a year, their minds touching. Her eyes became soft but her tone was firm. “I won’t leave you behind. We stay together. No separations. It’s too dangerous now; we’re both too weak.”

“I’ll carry him, Yer Magus,” said Rotgut. “He’s a big lad but I’ve carried bigger. Only five miles? I could do that any day.” So saying, he scooped up Sorial like he was a sack of grain and slung him over his shoulder. It was unbecoming for The Lord of Earth but Sorial didn’t protest. Truth be told, he was relieved to cede responsibility to another, if only for a brief time.

Leaving behind a few men to stand guard over Justin’s body, which needed to be preserved as proof of the victory, Rotgut set off southward. When Alicia proved unable to keep up the pace, she became another man’s passenger, although she was afforded the dignity of riding on his back with her legs locked around his chest. Sorial couldn’t help but notice how she constantly rubbed at her new stump, as if she couldn’t believe her hand was gone. He knew what that was like. She would “feel” those fingers for seasons.

As they trudged through the slushy remains of the previous week’s snow, the sounds of the Battle of Obis grew quieter and more distant until they faded altogether. Soon, all that remained for any ears that might listen were the noises made by the small group of men bearing two battered and beaten wizards across a barren snowscape.

* * *

Myselene wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and impatiently waved off the servant holding the pot into which she had just vomited her mid-day meal. She had thought herself past this part of the pregnancy but every once in a while the nausea crept upon her with a stealth and urgency that couldn’t be denied.

Captain Rexall - at least she thought that was his rank; it was hard to keep track - watched her neutrally. She could tell by his expression that he had already calculated dates and come to the correct conclusion about there being a too-wide gap between the last night she spent with Azarak and the onset of her pregnancy symptoms. She didn’t doubt his loyalty but this was an issue that would have to be addressed at some point in the not-too-distant future. As far as anyone outside an exclusive circle of three was concerned, her baby was the blood heir to Vantok’s throne.

A messenger - the latest in a seemingly endless line of them - entered the windowless chamber in which Myselene was sequestered, bowed, delivered his report, and departed. More bad news; General Twinlin dead and his entire company routed. She frowned, knowing this was going to fuel another argument with Rexall about her using one of Sorial’s underground tunnels to evacuate The Citadel. Four of those crude, hastily constructed passages opened into this dimly-lit cellar; each was guarded by two men. Rexall’s preference was for her to leave the city altogether although he was willing to compromise on a relocation to a site near the western wall, perhaps within the temple. The queen, on the other hand, saw no reason to budge. She had no intention of abandoning Obis, even though a third of it was under enemy control. The Citadel, despite being in the occupied section, was secure - at least until the return of the djinn - since its own walls had thus far proven impregnable to the small groups of mercenaries making attempts to get beyond them.

The steady stream of reports kept Myselene informed about the latest developments but she still longed to emerge and watch the battle with her own eyes. That would be unwise and she knew it. Overcommander Carannan was missing, presumed dead, as a result of the demolition of The Citadel’s top three stories. No location in the city had been thought safer yet most of her top generals had been lost as a result of several passes by the dragon.

The beast was now destroyed but that was scant consolation. The djinn were also gone, likely called away at the behest of their master. Myselene didn’t know if or when they would return. It likely depended on how the final battle between Sorial and Justin played out. She didn’t lose sight of the fact that what was happening here was secondary. The real struggle was taking place somewhere in the hills. Perhaps it had already transpired and the die was cast. The fall of Obis was of little consequence if Sorial succeeded in defeating The Lord of Fire. Likewise, if her army managed the task of beating back the invaders and re-taking the city, it would mean little if Justin won.

At the moment, it was army against army, fighting street to street. The defenders, initially hard-pressed and forced to give ground due to their numerical deficit, were now rallying, bolstered by the arrival of the fourteen thousand reserves attacking the invaders’ rear. The battle was a mess. No one was able to give a clear picture of who was winning, only that a lot of men on both sides were dying. The advance had at least been temporarily halted; now it was a matter of waiting.

Down here, perhaps thirty feet below ground, it was strangely quiet. For a while, that hadn’t been the case. When the djinn and dragon had been involved, muffled explosions had been heard and, when the wall came down, it had seemed like the entire chamber might collapse. But the more prosaic noise of battle couldn’t penetrate this deep; if Myselene heard the sound of swords clashing and revolvers firing, it would mean her reign was about to see its end.

Rexall came forward to press his case for flight. She scowled at him but that didn’t shake his resolution. The man’s determination was to be admired but he didn’t show sufficient deference. She was, after all, his queen, regardless of whether he identified himself as a citizen of Vantok or Obis. The lack of respect for authority must have had something to do with his upbringing. If an officer had spoken to her father with such familiarity, he would have been stripped of his rank and publically lashed - or worse.

“Your Majesty, you
must
consider moving from this location. We’re surrounded by the enemy. The reports say things are bad in the streets and the invaders could make their way onto The Citadel’s grounds. If that happens, your safety…”

“We’ve been over this many times, Captain. My place is here, inside the city with my people.” It was what her father would have done. Of course, her father would have been dressed in full battle armor with a giant broadsword in his hands.

“Your place may be here,” conceded Rexall. Myselene raised an eyebrow at this; it was the first time he had agreed with her about this matter thus far. Of course, he wasn’t done. “But the baby’s ain’t. He, or she, is in line for the throne of Vantok with no claim on Obis. Your primary duty, as queen of Vantok, is to protect Azarak’s heir.”

Damn
. It was a new argument, although she had wondered how long it would take Rexall to use it. He was, of course, correct. Duty was one thing she couldn’t afford to ignore. No one would gainsay her right to stay to the end and even die for her people. But when it came to her offspring… It was also interesting that Rexall had referred to the baby as “Azarak’s heir” rather than “Azarak’s child.” Considering the father’s identity, it was more than a case of semantics. Rexall, rarely a master of tact, was being surprisingly subtle in letting her know what he suspected.

“You have a point,” she admitted. “But I won’t leave until all is lost - until the city has fallen to Justin and The Citadel’s walls have been breached. If it comes to that, if there’s no chance…” Myselene’s voice faded as she felt a slight trembling in the floor beneath her feet. For a moment, she thought it was the beginning of an earthquake.

Sorial’s entrance was anything but grand, clothed as he was in only a threadbare soldier’s tunic and leggings. His skin, healed by his wife as best she could manage under dire circumstances, showed some of the blisters from his encounter with Justin but it looked worse than it felt. Next to him, hand clasped in his, was Alicia. Her appearance was equally bedraggled, although she wore her clothing better than he did.

The queen’s initial reaction was a raised eyebrow that quickly gave way to a wide smile. Rexall, standing protectively by her side with a hand lingering near the hilt of his weapon, was dumbfounded.

“Justin’s dead, killed in his camp to the south,” said Sorial, making the momentous pronouncement without preamble. “But his army doesn’t know it and they’ll keep at what they’re doing until they’re driven off or they take the city. We have to act fast. What’s the tactical situation?”

“Dead…” Myselene’s voice was wondering, almost as if she couldn’t process the change in events. “How?”

“Sorial killed him in a duel.” Alicia offered no additional details. There would be time enough for storytelling later. Like Sorial, she was tired to the bone. She just wanted this all to be over so she could rest. Dispelling the void had been more taxing than she had anticipated.

“Of course,” said Myselene. “You both look… older.”