The Last Whisper of the Gods (14 page)

“We could leave,” said Sorial. It wasn’t the first time he had suggested it but this time he meant it. “You and me, I mean. I talk to merchants from the North all the time and they say the weather’s normal in Basingham and Earlford. The heat seems to have settled over Vantok for some reason.”

“I dunno. I can’t believe this heat’s going to last forever. Things have to get back to normal. And if we was to go on the road together, that’d be a pretty serious commitment. I ain’t sure either of us is ready for that. Even if we wasn’t married, it’d be like we was.”

Sorial smiled a little shyly. The more he turned over the possibility of being with Annie on a long-term basis, the more it appealed to him. “It makes all the sense in the world to me. We like each other. We have fun. Sure, you’re older but with the way things are going, that may not mean nothing. A priest told me the other day to stop worrying about the future and live for the day. A
priest
said that.”

“Your words are like honey, Sor.”

“Does that mean you’ll consider it?”

“I’ll think about it. But I ain’t making no promises. Let’s wait and see what things are like in a season or two.” She paused, then pointed to the bank of the river they were approaching. “Look. We got company.” Ahead, a mountain of a man stood on dry land while a girl floated on her back in the water.

“Good to see you,” said Sorial as Vagrum approached them. “How you doin’?”

“As always, lad. Gout’s been playing me up but that’s the way it is when ya get older. Take my advice and stay young.” He paused and let his eyes roam over Annie. There was a hint of recognition in them. “Won’t ya introduce me to yer pretty companion?”

“This is Annie. Annie, this is Lady Alicia’s protector, Vagrum.”

Annie smiled. “We know each other.”

“That be the truth,” acknowledged Vagrum. “I wondered if you’d remember me.”

Facing Sorial, Annie explained, “Vagrum and I had a…dalliance…a number of years ago afore you came to the inn.”

Sorial nodded. It wasn’t the first time he had encountered one of Annie’s previous lovers. There were quite a few of them and that was something he would have to come to terms with if he was going to have a future with her. Sometimes it bothered him, sometimes not. Everyone had a past, he told himself (although his own was shrouded in mystery). What mattered was the present. She was with him now. Not Warburm. Not Vagrum. Not any of the others. Still, it could be unsettling to think of other men in bed with her.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, all three turned to find that Alicia had emerged from the water and was standing next to them dripping wet, her swimming costume plastered to her body.

It had been two years since Sorial had last seen Alicia wearing this little and, in the intervening time, her body had changed. She no longer had the form of a little girl. The outfit emphasized her breasts which, although small, were nicely shaped. Sorial couldn’t help but stare. Annie noticed his gaze and a small smile crept across her features.

“Good day, Milady,” said Annie, executing a perfect curtsey. “My name’s Annie. I’m a friend of Sorial’s.” An expert at reading body language, she could tell there was something between these two, even if their class difference prevented either from acknowledging it. In Vantok, a permanent liaison between a duke’s daughter and a stableboy was improbable.

Alicia regarded her speculatively then turned to Sorial. “What does she mean by ‘friend?’”

Sorial, less astute than Annie, saw no reason for evasion. “We work at the inn, spend time together, and occasionally share a bed.”

“Cozy,” said Alicia tartly. “Does that make her a stablegirl?”

“A serving girl,” said Sorial.

“Ah! I know I’ve led a sheltered life, but I believe that’s another name for a whore.”

“I once was that, Milady, but those years are behind me. And I don’t charge Sorial any coin for our nights together.”

Alicia appeared taken aback by the frankness of her response. “You appear well matched,” she eventually acknowledged. “Do you plan to wed?”

“I don’t see that’s any…” began Sorial.

Annie interceded smoothly. “We’ve talked ’bout it but it’s too soon to make such a decision, ’specially with things being what they are.”

“My father tells me I’m already betrothed. I don’t get to find out who it is until my Maturity when there will be some sort of public announcement. I understand it’s a big deal.”

That surprised Sorial. He had no idea Alicia
was
promised to someone. It made sense, though, based on how the world worked. In the nobility, marriages were politically or financially motivated. Love-matches were the province of commoners. Landed folk couldn’t afford the self-indulgent luxury of an attachment that didn’t bring a tangible return.

“I likely won’t meet him until the day of the wedding.” Alicia didn’t sound happy about the prospect. “That’s how it was with my father and mother. Things haven’t turned out well for them. They hardly ever see each other and never talk.”

“I feel for you,” said Annie. “At least when I choose a husband, if I choose one, I’ll know he’s someone I can build a life with.”

Vagrum appeared as uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation as Sorial. Both men were left standing idly as the woman and the girl, their tones increasingly more friendly, turned toward the water. Alicia stepped in while Annie doffed all but a thin shift.

“Do you ever swim?” asked Sorial of Vagrum, watching Annie and Alicia.

“Only after she’s abed. I ain’t never really off duty but I get some time to myself at night. A man needs to cool off in this damned heat.”

Sorial considered. He had never thought how demanding Vagrum’s position must be. In some ways, the big man was more of an indentured servant than Sorial had been in the stable before his new contract.

As if reading the younger man’s thoughts, Warburm said, “She’s like a daughter to me. I first took the job ’cause it paid better’n anything else out there and there ain’t many good positions for a scarred-up war horse like me. In one year, I get more’n five times the earnings of a Watch commander. But it didn’t take her long to win my heart. I been with her since she was two years old, and there ain’t nothing I won’t do for her. She don’t have to worry about marrying the wrong man. If he don’t treat her right, I’ll snap his neck.”

“Do you know who he is?” asked Sorial, mildly curious.

“I got some ideas. I like you and I owe you a debt for how you kept her safe that night, but there are some confidences I can’t betray.”

“Did you ever want to marry, Vagrum?”

He was silent for a while before answering. “I were married.” His eyes swept over the river, but he was no longer seeing Alicia and Annie splashing playfully. “She were everything a man like me could want in a wife. But that were a long time ago. Another lifetime, almost.”

“What happened?”

“What oft happens in the North. Too little food and too much cold one Winter. She were never a hearty woman to begin with, not like me. I came back from a hunting expedition to find her cold and still in our bed. The next day, I burned her body, offering her to the gods, then headed south. Alicia is the daughter she couldn’t give me.”

The intervening years - more than a dozen of them - had dulled the pain in Vagrum’s voice, but Sorial could see the sadness as those eyes gazed at images unseen by anyone except him. The stableboy wondered if it would ever be possible for him to care as deeply for a woman as Vagrum had for his lost love.

* * *

Later, on the way back to the inn, Annie remarked, “She likes you, you know.”

“Who? Alicia?”

“Of course, Alicia. She likes you
a lot
. More than she’s admitted to herself. More than’s probably good for either of you.”

Sorial snorted. “She thinks of me like a pet. Her property. Her
stableboy
.”

“That’s unkind. Think of what her life is like. She may have money and a big house, but she ain’t happy. She got no friends. She’s gonna marry a man who’ll see her as a means of breeding his line. What does it say to you when her two closest friends are a stableboy she barely knows and a man who gets paid to watch her? Be glad you ain’t her, Sor.”

That night, as he and Annie lay together under the sweat-soaked sheets in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Sorial held her tight to him as his thoughts drifted to a mansion across the city and a girl lying alone in a bed big enough for three.

* * *

Several weeks later, on a day like any other in a world turned into an endless Summer, Sorial finished up his last chores of the evening and went into the inn to find Annie. It was her day off and she had gone shopping in the market before making her daily pilgrimage to the river. Sorial accompanied her when his schedule allowed but today Warburm had burdened him with a mountain of things to do. Perhaps she had met Alicia. Since their initial encounter, the two had become unexpectedly chummy and contrived to meet as often as possible for their daily swims.

“She ain’t back,” said Betsy, noticing Sorial scanning The Wayfarer’s Comfort’s common room. “I ain’t seen her since this morning.”

Sorial was puzzled. It was rare for Annie to be out past sundown. He went upstairs and checked her room and his own. There was no sign of her. He briefly considered going out to look for her, but decided against it. She would return when she was ready. She was a grown woman and entitled to go where she wanted when she wanted. He had no claims on her, at least not yet.

He kicked off his boots and lay on his bed, waiting for her arrival. He was sure he would doze off but knew Annie would find a pleasant way of awakening him upon her return.

Many hours later, Sorial was jarred from a deep slumber by a pounding on his door. He could tell from the curtain of darkness outside his grimy window that it was deep into the night. The banging came again, accompanied by Warburm’s yell. “Sorial! Wake up!”

Shaking his head to clear it, Sorial stumbled through the darkness to the door, threw back the bolt, and opened it.

The innkeeper was in the hall, haggard and out-of-breath. His complexion was pale and his sparse hair out of place. He gazed at his stableboy with sad eyes before pronouncing three dire, life-changing words: “Annie be dead.”

For weeks, Sorial was in a daze, executing actions mechanically while his mind replayed that horrible night over and over. A roaming Watch patrol had found Annie in a ditch near Duke Carannan’s property, her neck broken. There were signs of a struggle but no indication she had been raped. Hers was just another death among many, one more victim to the tide of lawlessness.

Her immolation had been a small affair, presided over by a priest Warburm knew and attended only by the staff of the inn and a few of Annie’s favorite customers. There were many tears shed, but none by Sorial. Inside, he felt numb. But now he believed what so many professed - the gods had abandoned men. The brightness of an endless Summer had turned into a Winter of the heart.

Since Annie’s death, The Wayfarer’s Comfort had lost some of its carefree aura. Warburm had hired a new girl but no one could replace Annie. Her spirit had been one of the things the regulars loved about the inn, and Warburm’s trade was off now that she was no longer around. For his part, Sorial spent his days in the stable and his nights in his room, brooding and sleeping. He no longer visited Rexall or went to the river to swim. When familiar customers handed him the reins to their animals, Sorial took them without a word and went directly to his work. He had little patience for conversation and there seemed to be no point in it.

Now that Annie was gone, he was confused about his feelings. Why wasn’t his grief deeper? Was his numbness because her voice had been stilled or because half-formed plans for a future had burned with her body? He was back to where he had been before his Maturity - without prospects. Everything seemed senseless - life, the future, the folly of his daily ritual. He, like everyone else, was marking time.

Another thought that haunted him was that maybe Annie hadn’t died a random, commonplace death. A woman like her, neither robbed nor raped? She had been close to him and he had been warned he might be a target. What if Annie’s death had something to do with the unrevealed past stalking Sorial? That would make him responsible. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t banish the idea. It assailed him most forcefully during the darkest hours of the night, when Annie beseeched him from his nightmares to save her.

His time with Annie had taught Sorial a bitter lesson. What was given
would
be taken away. Happiness, no matter how hard-won and deeply felt, was an illusion. Sorial wasn’t apt to blame the gods for this. This was the way life had always been. Now he understood some of what lay behind the shadow in his mother’s eyes. She knew this and recognized that her son would have to pass through pain to discover it. Annie’s death had allowed Sorial to more deeply grasp his mother’s motivations, even though he disagreed with her methods. If she had told him about his past, could the tragedy have been averted? Another harsh question to ponder.

“Sorial?” said a gentle voice from near the entrance to the stable. It was Alicia -unaccompanied, on foot, and dressed like a commoner. She wore a simple muslin dress and her lustrous golden hair was tucked under a cap. It was the first time she had come to him like this, and possibly the only time she had called him something other than “stableboy.”

She approached slowly. Noting his surprise, she explained, “Vagrum and two of my father’s guards are outside with my pony. It took me two weeks to persuade them to let me come see you. I wanted to be at Annie’s burning but they didn’t think it was a good idea.

“Oh, Sorial, I’m so sorry…” She started crying.

That was all it took for Sorial’s throat to constrict and tears to spring unbidden to his eyes.

“I saw her that day. It must have been just before… They said it happened on the road leading from my father’s property.”

Sorial nodded. “Bandits, I guess. Don’t make sense, though. She had nothing worth stealing and she wasn’t raped. A senseless crime.”

“Like half the murders in this city. It’s as if people like killing, or kill just because they can. The strong preying on the weak.”

“Exactly what you’d expect if the gods no longer care.”

“You aren’t the first to say that. My father made a similar remark recently, except his words were more ominous. He wondered if the gods are still alive.”

“He may be right. I should start carrying that knife you gave me. It ain’t doing no good hidden under my bed.” Sorial had two daggers and neither had saved Annie.

“Surely you’re safe here, under Warburm’s protection?”

Sorial thought back. “There ain’t nowhere safe, not even this stable. A pitchfork’s a good enough weapon if’n there ain’t nothing better around, but that dagger can kill even for someone who don’t know much about stabbing and hacking.”

“May it serve you well, then. Even though I hope you never have to use it.”

“These days, who knows?”

“I came here to make sure you’re okay. It…I knew this was going to be hard on you. With what you and she were thinking about. Being together, maybe getting married. She talked about it some. She didn’t think it would really happen. She wanted it but thought something would tear it away. The age difference bothered her as did the innkeeper’s opposition. But she said she had never felt as safe and comfortable around any other man as you. I thought you should know that.”

Sorial didn’t know how to respond, not only to the message but to the messenger. This was a side of Alicia he hadn’t previously seen: kind, caring, empathetic. She had given him an unexpected gift: the numbness had become an ache. Now he could grieve properly.

“I’m sorry.” Alicia read the pain in his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“No,” said Sorial. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad she felt like that.”

“If you need me, I’m at the house. I hardly go anywhere except to the river, and then I’m accompanied by Vagrum and several of my father’s guards. I never stay long, though. Without you, without her, it’s no fun.”

“Maybe someday I’ll visit.” When he had healed enough to travel
that
road.

Impulsively, Alicia leaned forward to brush her lips across his. The kiss was soft and compassionate, not spiked with desire like their last one - a gesture of friendship, comfort, and perhaps a little more. Then she turned and was gone. He wondered if that was her way of saying goodbye. In some ways, it felt like it. In the past, every time he had seen Alicia, he had been certain they would meet again. This time, he was no longer sure.

* * *

A few days before Midwinter’s Day, there was no sign of anything colder than the chilly drizzle that had been falling for nearly a week. The farmers were ecstatic about the inclement weather since it provided help to the fledgling crops. Everyone in and around Vantok with a field accepted the strange notion that the growing season was reserved for that time of year when fields had once been buried under snow. No flakes had fallen in Vantok for several years, and this Winter would be no different.

Life had returned to normal for Sorial. The passage of more than a season had closed the wound of Annie’s death. Although the scab still hurt, he found himself picking at it with less frequency. Sorial was no different than other boys his age in his ability to shake off misfortune. He buried himself in the day-to-day routine of his duties, often agreeing to work long hours and skip days off in exchange for a few extra studs. On occasion, he and Rexall would go out drinking and whoring, but that was all the recreation Sorial needed.

He hadn’t visited Alicia despite repeated invitations from the duke. Sorial was doing what he could to cut ties with his past. He was determined that as soon as his contract with Warburm was fulfilled, he would head north. He hadn’t seen his mother since his Maturity and he intended to visit her only one more time - just before he departed, to give her a final chance to reveal the secrets she kept locked away inside her heart.

Sorial carried Alicia’s present everywhere he went. He had attached the sheath to a belt so he could wear it concealed under a cloak while walking the streets of Vantok. During sleep, he kept it next to his bed with the other dagger hidden in his mattress. It was always close at hand while he was in the stable.

Today was technically a day off, but he had agreed to work the night shift for Visnisk, who wanted to spend some of his hard-earned wages on an evening with Excela and another whore. It was mid-afternoon when Sorial struggled out of bed, his head still throbbing from the previous night’s excesses.

Although the weather was mild, the sun still set early as was typical for the time of the year when the days were at their shortest. So, by the time Sorial exited the inn to start the evening’s work, it was dark.

His first impression of the stable was that Visnisk had deserted before the end of this shift. Then, by the dim lantern-light, he saw a crumpled shape on the ground near the entrance to one of the stalls. He moved closer to get a better look.

Initially, Sorial thought Visnisk was passed out from drunkenness - a common occurrence - but there was something odd about the angle of his body. Sorial’s stomach did a quick somersault and he reached for his weapon. As he slid it free of the sheath, something heavy crashed into him from behind.

He hit the stable floor hard, miraculously retaining his grip on the knife even as the breath whooshed out of him. As he lay on the ground, his face pressed into the prickly straw, he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye - a shadowy form circling around behind him. Another person - presumably the one who had knocked him over - was atop him, kneeing him in the small of his back.

Sorial’s survival instincts kicked in. He stopped thinking and just acted. Ignoring the black spots dancing across his vision, he summoned his considerable strength and lashed out with the dagger, his arm flexing up and over his shoulder. He was rewarded with a scream of pain and a splatter of warmth across his neck and the back of his head. Gasping, he rolled over and saw the approach of his death.

Including the one he had wounded, there were four of them, all dressed identically. They were garbed in black from their soft leather boots and tight-fitting pants and shirts to the scarves wrapped around their lower faces and the skullcaps crowning their heads. In the poor light of the stable, they blended with the shadows. Two faced Sorial, brandishing knives as deadly as his. The injured one lay a short distance away, writhing in pain as he bled out his life on the straw. Sorial couldn’t tell where the man was cut, but the lucky blow had been mortal. The fourth attacker, standing a short distance behind the others, was calmly packing powder and a ball into the muzzle of a pistol.

When it came to fighting with weapons, Sorial lacked skill and training. In anything resembling a fair fight, he would lose, and do so quickly. His instincts told him that his only chance was to attempt the unexpected. The men didn’t yet realize his lack of proficiency and his success at felling their compatriot had made them wary. So Sorial did the most irrational thing that came to mind and took the offensive, charging directly at one of them.

The man was so surprised that he took a step backward. Then Sorial was upon him, swinging his dagger wildly, slicing the air with unpracticed but dangerous swipes. The attacker raised his knife in defense, fending off the frenzied blows, but he lost his footing and both of them tumbled to the ground, their blades finding simultaneous targets. Sorial’s encountered little resistance plunging into his opponent’s neck; the twinge in his left thigh told him where he had been hit. Next to him, his assailant gurgled out his last few breaths as a crimson foam bubbled from his mouth. Blood dripping from the leg wound, Sorial rose and assumed a crouch.

The report of a gunshot, unexpectedly loud within the confines of the stable, insured that Sorial would have no chance to engage either of the other attackers. Agony of a kind he had never experienced exploded in his side and he dropped as if poleaxed, the dagger slipping from senseless fingers. For a moment, there was an unnatural calm punctuated only by the screams of terrified horses, then chaos erupted around him, heralded by the clanging of blade against blade and the noise of men cursing and laboring in a skirmish. Sorial’s ears registered the sounds of his salvation, but only dimly, before everything went still and black.

* * *

Sorial’s return to consciousness was a slow, uncertain thing. The leg injury was minor but the gunshot to his stomach had appeared mortal. For the better part of two weeks, Sorial hovered between life and death, battling pain from the wounds and a fever that threatened to overcome him in spite of the liberal application of cold compresses and frequent bleedings. During this time, he regained consciousness for brief periods but was never lucid. It wasn’t until after the fever broke that his open eyes showed awareness.

At first, Sorial had no idea what had happened, where he was, or even who he was. A pretty girl with luminous blond hair was hovering over him, her features crinkled with concern. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration, then opened them when he divined her name.

“Welcome back, stableboy,” she said softly, crying and smiling at the same time. “We thought we lost you.”

Alertness returned in a rush. Sorial was lying on his bed in his room at The Wayfarer’s Comfort. The stale air smelled of sweat and blood and urine. His throat was parched and his head throbbed abominably, but those aches were nothing compared with the discomfort in his left thigh and stomach.