Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (47 page)

“So you’re going to burn yourself out before you approach the portal?”

“What’s the point of leaving behind untapped potential? I don’t think it will take much energy to pry open the gateway. Why not put most of what I have left to good use so I’ll be able to say I left something tangible behind. I’m vain enough to want that - to be remembered for some great deeds.”

“Like winning a war and rebuilding Widow’s Pass?”

“And perhaps a few more things. I’m sure Myselene will be able to discover some tasks for The Lord of Earth to do as part of her plan for Vantok’s reconstruction.”

“The things you’ve done already are sufficient for your name to live in posterity. Maybe the time has come for you to do something for yourself rather than for Myselene.” A trace of bitterness entered her voice; Sorial knew what she was thinking of. “I’m sure she wouldn’t begrudge you that. You’ve done far and above what your duty as her subject demands of you.”

“You may be right,” said Sorial, allowing the moment to probe the sore spot to pass. “But what would I do ‘for myself’?” He reached out and clasped her hand in his. “I have everything I want. Riches, property, power… those things ain’t never appealed to me. When I was young, I dreamed about escaping Warburm and making my own way in the world. I remember talking to Rexall about the two of us dusting the city’s dirt from our boots and going on some great adventure. But then there was Annie and, after her, there was you, and you became everything to me. Being a wizard was never really a goal; it was a means to an end. Give me another twenty years and how will I spend it? In boredom. I ain’t like you - I can’t shut myself away in a library to study and be content with that. I’d be happier going back and mucking stalls.”

“There are our fledglings,” said Alicia. “They need us. They need you.”

“For a time, but that will pass - probably more quickly than we suspect. Your aunt’s early aptitude is surprising. She’s taken to flight like a bird. As for Excela… she’ll come along. Strange to think of her as The Lady of Fire. I’ve grown accustomed to associating Justin with that element.”

“Another corpse in our wake. If I stop long enough to think about the trail of bodies, I might cry.”

“That reminds me,” said Sorial, recalling something he had long intended to do. “Stay here. It won’t take long. I’ll be back.” Before Alicia could reply, he had melted into the ground and was gone. She stood there waiting, impatience growing, trying to keep control of her annoyance. Fifteen minutes seemed like hours to Alicia. Before her irritation could turn to angst, however, he reappeared. In his arms, he bore a macabre burden.

The skeleton wore a full chain-link vest, making it bulkier and heavier than it would otherwise have been. Alicia didn’t have to study it long to recognize it. Even if the armor hadn’t been familiar, the hole in the front of the skull, where the bullet had penetrated, was revealing. These were Vagrum’s remains. It was only then that Alicia realized they weren’t far from where he had fallen on that dark day five seasons ago.

“Somehow, it didn’t seem right to just leave him here. He deserves a proper burial with a marker. The bards may never sing of his deeds but he’s earned more recognition than lying alone in the bottom of a gorge.”

Unshed tears in her eyes, she stepped close to him, pushed back his hood, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Rather than rejoining the mass of refugees, they camped for the night there and were reunited with the queen the next day. She was full of praise for the wizards’ efforts.

“Now we have a true route joining North and South - a road honest men can use without wondering whether they’ll survive the passage. No longer shall this be ‘Widow’s Pass.’ Henceforth, it shall be known as ‘Wizards’ Pass’.”

Carannan took charge of Vagrum’s body, laying him out in a wagon. “He may be beyond caring,” said the overcommander. “But there are a few among us who care very deeply. It will be good to lay his bones in the city he adopted as his own.”

Despite the new route forged by Sorial, transit through the pass wasn’t an easy matter. Snow threatened before midday and came down heavily during the afternoon, forcing the company, which was stretched out over several miles, to halt. Sorial and Alicia were able to forestall avalanches but conditions quickly became uncomfortable. Lavella suggested that she might be able to “nudge” the storm away but Sorial, rebuked her: “In the hands of experts, weather control can be dangerous. It invites disaster for someone with almost no experience. The day may come when you’ll feel confident enough to divert storms and moderate temperatures, but that day ain’t now and I doubt it will be soon.”

The next morning, they were once again able to move, although it was slow going with a foot of snow glazing Sorial’s freshly-minted road. The two wizards rode with Myselene in the royal carriage. She would have preferred to proceed on horseback but her condition made riding uncomfortable and potentially dangerous. Carannan flanked her on the left and Rexall on the right.

“Hard to believe it’s the same place,” remarked Rexall. “Looks like a proper pass now. Sor, you’ve put those thin wagon sellers and loaders out of business. Now merchants’ll be able to come through in full caravans.”

“The pass will need to be patrolled,” said Carannan. “In fact, the whole road will need to be patrolled. This will be an opportune time for bandits and we need free and frequent trade to breathe life back into the damaged cities.”

“I intend to establish a direct route from Obis to Vantok - a ‘King’s Road’ that will provide a protected path from North to South with branches to each of the other cities. It’s something Azarak and my father were negotiating before things went bad.”

“Will you supervise the reconstruction in Earlford?” asked Sorial. Myselene had been reluctant to discuss her plans for expansion but it was obvious from the hints she had dropped that she was interested in empire building.

“Resources and manpower will be made available.”

“In return for them accepting you as their ruler.”

Myselene nodded. “One reason for Justin’s success was because the cities were divided. Each was governed by petty concerns. If there had been a common understanding of his threat and a commitment to band together to meet the danger, things might have turned out differently. We might have been able to stop him at Vantok. I don’t intend for something like that to happen again. I didn’t set out to rule more than one city but now that it’s happened, I intend to use that position to forge an alliance unlike one ever before seen on this continent.”

“It will be exceedingly expensive,” noted Sorial.

“Which is why it’s fortunate that Vantok’s Wizard has access to an endless supply of precious gems and minerals.”

Sorial didn’t press her for additional details. By the time she had shaped this brave new future, time would have moved beyond him. Vantok would have another wizard, likely either his wife or Lady Lavella. It was a strange thing knowing his days were numbered - that, in all likelihood, he would never see another Winter. Looking at Alicia, he saw worry etched in her features. The coming event he viewed with an almost inhuman equanimity terrified her. In her position, it would frighten him as well. There were times when being a survivor could be a hard thing.
Sometimes, the only thing more difficult than dying is living
. Sorial couldn’t recall who had said those words but it must have been someone wise.

The progress of the sprawling line of guards and refugees took nearly a week to vacate the newly named Wizards’ Pass. Once The Broken Crags were behind them, the queen’s entourage made better speed. The farther south they traveled, the more temperate the weather became, with snow squalls changing to a cold rain. They were on the road when Winter gave way to Planting. To Sorial, it was a sad thing to see so little activity in the fields of the many small villages they passed along the way. In any other year, farmers would have been out tilling the ground and sowing seed but, with male populations stripped to fill Justin’s army and many of those menfolk never to return, there was no one to ready the fields for planting. There would be widespread famine this year unless someone acted, and who better to intercede in this matter than the Lord of Earth?

None of the settlements were deserted - there were still women, small children, and elders. In time, perhaps a few of the men would return. At least six thousand under Justin’s banner survived, all but the worst offenders and highest ranked officers pardoned and released by Myselene. But tending to fields was hard work for so few. Perhaps if they were to receive a little help…

Almost without consideration, Sorial went to work. At first, none of his companions, not even his wife, were aware of what he was doing. Then they noticed the earth turning over on its own, with rich, dark loam rising to the top, almost as if ox-driven plows had tilled the croplands. He couldn’t tend to every field throughout the South but if he could give a few head starts like this, there might at least be some food to fill bellies during the trying times that lay ahead.

Myselene looked at him admiringly. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted. “I should appoint you my chancellor.”

It was an honor to be thought of in that way, but Myselene knew as well as he did that his fate lay elsewhere. He was unlikely to see the full fruit of this harvest or any other. The queen would need to find another chancellor and, soon, another would have to accept the mantle of
Magus Prime
.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: SIFTING THROUGH THE ASHES

Many times during the past few seasons, Sorial had doubted he would ever again be in this position: standing atop the mountain he had created, looking down at the city he had been forced to abandon. It was a bittersweet moment because the Vantok of today was only a shattered remnant of the place in which he had grown to manhood. So much of what he remembered was gone, burned to the ground by overzealous looters. Many of the houses, cottages, and shops of the peasantry, built entirely from wood with roofs of thatch and wattle, were no more. Even some of the larger, stone constructions had suffered irreparable damage. From this vantage, the only two buildings looking to have survived relatively unscathed were the palace and the temple. The latter, always Vantok’s gleaming architectural jewel, continued in that role, with the walls of alternating black and white tiles as striking as ever. The four steeples topping the edifice were undamaged, as was the gleaming golden dome that formed the ceiling of the worship hall.

“It looks strange,” said Alicia, who had accompanied Sorial on the scouting trip. Lavella, the new Lady of Air and a resident of Vantok for her entire life, had wanted to come as well but Sorial had vetoed her participation. In his opinion, her inconsistency with her abilities could potentially make her a liability at this stage of her evolution as a wizard. Excela, who had yet to master even the most basic aspects of fire-magic, showed no interest in getting an early glimpse of her former city. The main body of Myselene’s company was still about two days away up the North-South Road. They would be here soon enough but the queen wanted to know what, if anything, would be waiting. To that end, she wanted an eyewitness report from someone whose reliability was matched by his familiarity with the city. That meant Sorial and, by extension, Alicia.

It was a balmy Planting day with temperatures approaching early Summer levels - probably the warmest it had been since early Harvest last year. There were some farmers working their fields but far fewer than there should have been at this time of the season. Based on what he was seeing, Sorial estimated there wouldn’t be enough mature crops to feed a handful of families let alone an entire city. Most of Vantok’s numerous rich fields lay fallow; that included Sorial’s own farm - the land once tilled by Lamanar that Azarak had gifted to him upon his return from Havenham. There was so much that needed to be fixed before Vantok could be close to what it had been before Justin’s destructive march north. For the most part, the fixing would be for Queen Myselene and her new chancellor, Duke Ferwan, to accomplish. Getting those fields productive would be a high priority. Sorial could do for Vantok what he had done for farms along the route south but it would be meaningless if there weren’t men or women to plant the seeds and tend the crops. Sorial knew enough of his history to recognize that famine and pestilence often followed wars; it wasn’t hard to understand why that was so.

The city wasn’t deserted; a few people could be seen walking the streets and three or four merchants had set up poorly stocked stalls in the marketplace. What they were selling, Sorial could only guess; he couldn’t see at this distance. Vantok was a dim reflection of its former self with none of the bustle that had once defined life there. As best he could tell, the city’s current inhabitants were normal peasants - people who had perhaps scattered during the attack then returned after it was over. There were no sign of overseers, guards, or soldiers. It wasn’t an armed military camp and it wasn’t like what Havenham had become under Langashin’s rule. If Justin had left behind men to maintain order, they were either gone or out of sight. Perhaps they had evacuated when word came from Obis of their leader’s defeat. Mercenaries generally didn’t continue a fight once the man holding the purse was dead.

Sorial found his gaze drawn toward the city’s southwestern quarter. Most of the fire damage was there, with whole blocks reduced to ash that had long since scattered or been cleaned away. From this vantage, the familiar structure of The Wayfarer’s Comfort was visible. The stable, however, was nowhere to be seen. A completely wooden building, it had fallen victim to the flames that had swept through that portion of Vantok.

At this distance, it was impossible to determine the inn’s condition, but he had little doubt that, unless it was a burnt-out shell, Warburm’s wife would do everything in her power to resuscitate the place. Although the big man had been the face of The Wayfarer’s Comfort, Ponari had been the one who kept things running. She had ordered all the victuals and brews. She had accomplished the daily baking. She had done the hiring, paid the wages, and cut people off when their tabs became onerous. It was no coincidence that the inn had continued to run smoothly on those occasions when Warburm had embarked on his infamous, infrequent trips. Like the city as a whole, The Wayfarer’s Comfort would need time to rebuild, but it would eventually return to a place of prominence among Vantok’s less affluent citizens and visitors.

Still, it would be strange to visit the inn and not find the big man behind the bar or sitting at a table regaling goggle-eyed customers with exaggerated tales of his adventuring exploits. For Sorial, like many of the customers, Warburm had become synonymous with the place. Ponari, who had always worked behind the scenes, would have to come into the open and display a gregarious nature. Or perhaps she’d remarry someone who was as good with the patrons as Warburm - someone who could convince them that warm, watered-down ale was the best drink they’d find in all of Vantok.

“Can you sense whether our house is okay?” asked Alicia.

Their property, located northwest of the main populated area near the river, was out of visual range. Sorial took a moment to let his earth-sense probe the area. “It’s abandoned but still standing. The mice and rats have taken over - something that seems oddly appropriate given your phobia. There ain’t enough cats to keep them in check. I can’t tell if the house was ransacked and looted but there’s no evidence it was set aflame or seriously damaged. We should be able to restore it. After the rodents are cleared out, that is.”

Alicia scowled at him, but didn’t say anything. Under the hood, Sorial was smiling. He added, “As houseguests go, they’re better than most.”

“The people living in the city - are they former residents or members of Justin’s army?”

“Probably both. I imagine Justin didn’t leave many people behind, wanting every able-bodied man with him, so he likely left a small group to ‘keep order.’ They probably weren’t among the best or brightest - he’d want those with him. Likely thugs with little value in battle. The refugees who scattered during the evacuation but didn’t continue to Basingham may have returned and, finding the city largely abandoned, moved back in. I’d guess there are peasants living in nobles’ houses; that will create property issues for the queen. Evicting people from a place where they’ve lived for a year won’t be popular but the nobles have a right to their property, I guess.” He wasn’t so sure about that. If his house had been burned and he’d moved into a larger, abandoned property and made it a home, he’d want the right to stay. Regardless of what she decided, Myselene was going to have to pay compensation to one group or another.

“It’s almost like a ghost city. More like Ibitsal than the Vantok I remember.”

Sorial nodded. She was right; it wasn’t familiar. Growing up in the stable, the city had seemed bigger than he could imagine. His world had been a few square blocks. Just traveling as far as the marketplace had been a great adventure and visiting his mother at the farm had seemed like taking a journey to another continent. Now, so many places that had been fixed points in his youth were no more. Vantok wouldn’t be healthy until the rebuilding was complete, but the queen’s decision to set up her court here would attract people, as would the impending birth of “Azarak’s heir.” It would take years to recover from the damage that had been done in a few days but eventually a new Vantok would rise from the ashes of the old one.

“Let’s check our house and see these friendly mice. You can pet a few. Then we’ll head back to Myselene to report. As far as I can tell, there ain’t no reason she can’t march the entire army here, reclaim the palace, and let people begin repopulating the buildings that still stand.”

Looking over the remains of Vantok, Sorial wondered if this phase wouldn’t be more challenging than winning the battle had been. In a few weeks’ time, the queen might wish she had remained in Obis.

* * *

The throne, the most important symbol of rulership, was intact. It was impossible to determine how many men had sat there since Azarak had last occupied it, but Justin and his lackeys had left it undamaged. Surrounded by her personal guards and a few trusted advisors, Myselene lowered herself onto the padded seat in a moment of deep significance. Normally, it would have been comfortable but it hadn’t been designed with a woman nearing the full term of her pregnancy in mind.

“The queen is on the throne!” boomed the voice of Chancellor Ferwan, reverberating through the large, nearly empty audience hall. “The line of Vantok is restored!”

Ferwan was a big, boisterous man whose selection as Vantok’s new chancellor had resulted from Carannan’s prodding. The duke had been Myselene’s predecessor as heir to the Crown; Azarak had named him interim Crown Prince during the period when the widowed king had lacked a blood or marriage successor. Before the king’s wedding, Ferwan had stepped down with as much grace as when he had first accepted the appointment, but he had remained a trusted advisor and staunch supporter. Initially, the duke was believed to have been killed in the Battle of Vantok but he had in fact been dispatched several days before Justin’s attack on a diplomatic mission to solicit support from the far city of Andel. With so many of the late king’s confidants dead or missing, he had been the most logical choice to replace Gorton. It was unclear, however, whether Ferwan was Myselene’s chancellor for both cities or only for Vantok. That was a decision for another day.

The throne room was in surprisingly good repair considering the poor condition of the city in general. Although there had been no one to greet her on her reclamation of the throne, the palace had not long been vacant. The temporary ruler had abdicated and fled only recently. Myselene couldn’t blame him. His actions had been treasonable and he would have faced summary execution. It was just as well; she was happy to have retaken the city with little effort and no bloodshed.

“In the normal course of things, I should be giving birth around now,” said Myselene once the hall had been cleared of all but her three closest advisors: Ferwan, Carannan, and Rexall.  The two wizards would normally have been included in the conversation but they were searching the city. “But I feel I should make a public appearance or two before entering my confinement. The people - at least those who are here - need to know their queen is once again on the throne.”

“I’ll send out criers and post notices that you’ll make a short speech from the palace walls,” said Ferwan.

“Excellent. We can announce the birth of the Crown Princess on the first of next week.” Alicia had made the deception easier by identifying the baby’s sex. “She’ll be called Kara.” It was perhaps too obvious a nod to the baby’s father but Myselene felt strongly that Sorial’s mother would never be properly acknowledged by history.

“I want the palace made livable as quickly as possible,” said Myselene. She envisioned a return to normalcy spreading like a healing wave with the royal quarters at the epicenter. Rexall had already been given the unenviable duty of selecting the new palace staff; she hoped to see a few familiar faces among them. “My maids are already preparing my chambers, but the kitchens and private audience room must be cleaned immediately. I also need someone to take a delegation of soldiers to the temple to ascertain what things are like there and whether there are any priests deep in hiding.”

“I’ll supervise it personally, Your Majesty,” said Carannan.

“Thank you. Chancellor, beginning on the morrow, you need to start processing claims for property. In some cases, ownership is unambiguous. I’ve already given Sorial and Alicia uncontested rights to their mansion and Lamanar’s farm. Those nobles whose titles are well established and whose property wasn’t re-inhabited during the occupation can receive similarly expedited treatment. After that, I leave it to your judgment how to handle the less obvious situations. When payments must be made, be fair but not overly generous.

“Let’s get to work returning Vantok to its rightful place of glory as the Jewel of the South.”

* * *

The Wayfarer’s Comfort was empty and silent. The windows were dark, gaping holes. The front door, nowhere in evidence, had been ripped off its hinges. The inside was a shambles with everything not looted having been smashed or damaged beyond usefulness: crockery, goblets, bottles, and so forth. Many of the tables and about half the chairs were salvageable.

Sorial looked around with sadness. For him, this was a haunted building, but the ghosts were in his mind. Annie with her bright smile, always willing to bend to give patrons a peek down the front of her blouse. Brindig and Darrin, the two local watchmen who had taken a few extra coins in return for keeping a close eye on the inn and the boy in the stable. And of course Warburm, the once-great adventurer turned innkeeper. It angered Sorial that the truth about Warburm’s death would never be known. For political reasons, Ferguson had to remain revered. Warburm deserved better. Ponari deserved better. Perhaps one day, the truth would be told and the innkeeper’s reputation could be cleared of the taint.