The Last Whisper of the Gods (19 page)

“Two more weeks? It ain’t such a long time,” said Sorial, but his body contradicted his words. If Alicia was as eager tonight as she had been at the river… He had never wanted anyone this much, not even Annie. The touch of her fingers weakened the iron resolve engendered by Vagrum’s proximity.

“Two weeks!” exclaimed an exasperated Alicia, her hand becoming almost rough as she stroked him. “This is driving me crazy! Every night, lying in bed alone, knowing you’re standing just outside my door… Why wait? Unless you don’t want me.”

“Of course I want you!” Sorial’s voice was husky. “It’s killing me to know I could pull you down now…”

Suddenly, Sorial found himself on the ground, Alicia astride him, her lips pressed against his. Surprised, it took Sorial a moment to respond, then he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him. Their bodies ground against each other seeking release despite the layers of interfering clothing.

He pulled back before they passed the point of no return. “Not here,” he panted. “Not in a field or a barn or a stable. You deserve better.”

“I deserve to feel you inside me,” she groaned, frustrated at his reticence. “Why are you worried about things like that? Do you think I care?”

“Not now, you don’t. But sometime in the future, when you think back, you’ll care.”

“You could get me with child tonight,” she said, her hands dancing between them, promising and persuading. “That would seal the bond between us. My father would have no choice then.”

“We have to wait,” he said. “Two weeks.”

Muttering some unladylike phrases, Alicia sat up next to him. After letting out a deep sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder and let the comfort of the darkness ebb through her. They stayed like that for a long time, letting seconds bleed into minutes. Eventually, when the warmth of their embrace gave way to the chill of the night, they rose and continued on to the mansion. Both were convinced they had a future together, although neither was certain how it would evolve.

* * *

The days following the Midwinter Day’s carnival were difficult for Sorial and Alicia. There were few opportunities for privacy, no chances to sip of their newfound intimacy. In front of others, they had to pretend their relationship was the same it had always been: friendly with an edge of rivalry. It was a difficult façade. The joy of one-upsmanship was gone. Each time he saw her, the ache was stronger. Sorial had never known it was possible to want a woman this much. He was constantly comparing what he felt for Alicia with what he had felt for Annie and finding those old feelings lacking.

Vagrum watched them and Sorial suspected the big man was aware of the situation. The space he once gave Sorial and Alicia had contracted. Now, when the two were together in the stable, Vagrum waited just inside the door rather than outside, as had previously been his habit. That made even stealing a quick kiss awkward.

“He knows,” said Sorial quietly as the two of them worked on a horse. Sorial was checking its shoes while Alicia brushed its coat.

“I know. I think he was watching us that night and we didn’t realize it. But he didn’t tell my father or I would have been subjected to the ‘Sorial’s a good man but…’ lecture.”

“He’s watching us now.”

“No, he’s watching me. Specifically, he’s watching between my legs to make sure what’s there stays intact. You wouldn’t believe the importance that’s placed on an unsullied maidenhood in some noble marriages. If a peasant girl enjoys a few rolls in the hay before the happy day, it’s considered a way to gain experience. But if I go to my future husband’s bed in anything less than pristine condition, it will be a scandal.”

Sorial was committed to stay the course. One more week. Only one more week. Then, for good or ill, they would know the depth of sacrifice necessary for them to be together.

“You realize that once the betrothal is announced, I’ll be under closer surveillance than now. It’s traditional for my future husband to provide me with protection. You’ll be replaced by one of his men. Even seeing each other to say ‘hello’ will be difficult. If you think my movements are restricted now, wait until then. Planning to leave… If we’re going to run, we should do it now.”

They argued about it for a while until Alicia, infuriated by his stubbornness, stormed off. When he noticed his charge’s disposition, Vagrum cast a disapproving glance in Sorial’s direction. The younger man shrugged and Vagrum raised an eyebrow before leaving in Alicia’s wake. That was the last Sorial saw of her until the next morning.

He knew the moment she entered the stable that something was wrong. She wore her worry like a cloak. As always, Vagrum followed; there was nothing in his demeanor that hinted at a problem.

“We’re beaten,” spat Alicia. “Your indecisiveness has finished us.”

“What is it?”

“I overheard a conversation between my father and mother. I’m to be brought before the king next week for my Maturity. That’s when the betrothal is to take place.”

“So?”

“So? So? Don’t you
see
? Didn’t the gods give you eyes?”

Sorial shook his head, bewildered.

“Think about it. The king is a widower. It’s
him
.”

“You’re overreacting. It can’t be him.” Sorial’s words were calm but he felt as if the world had suddenly shifted under his feet. What was it Rexall had said?
There are rumors the king is considering her for his bride.

“Overreacting?? Why else would the king - a man under pressure to remarry - be at the betrothal of a duke’s daughter? That’s not normal. In fact, I’ve never heard of it happening before. It would also explain why there’s so little concern about
us
. What girl, given the choice, wouldn’t throw away an attachment to a stableboy to be the queen? Or at least that’s the way they think.”

Her logic was impeccable. Sorial felt sick to his stomach.

“I’ll be moved to the palace immediately. Tradition would argue for a two season engagement, but the king has no heirs so he needs to get his queen with child as soon as possible. I’m sure no one would object if he dispensed with tradition to marry me two minutes after the announcement of the betrothal. And the Temple wouldn’t admit me as a penitent vowing chastity. Not even the prelate would cross the king in this matter.”

She started crying. Sorial flinched, wanting to embrace her but knowing they were being watched. He glanced at Vagrum. The guardian was scowling. Then, very deliberately, Vagrum turned his back.

At first, Alicia resisted Sorial’s hug, but she eventually melted into it, clinging to him with a death-grip.

“We’ve lost,” she murmured. “It’s over.”

“No,” said Sorial. There had to be a way. He would find a way. “I ain’t giving up now. I don’t know how but I’ll make this right.” He hoped the words sounded less hollow to her ears than to his own.

Two weeks following Midwinter’s Day, Azarak was able to put his dalliance with scholarly pursuits behind him. If there was more to learn, he didn’t know where to look. Although there weren’t many contemporary dissertations on the topic of wizards (outside the “folklore” category), archaic volumes were replete with references. By now, he had read every book in Vantok’s royal library about the subject, as well as various tomes and scrolls borrowed from the archives of the other great cities. The only references forbidden to him were the “secret” scrolls kept in the temple - scrolls whose existence Ferguson denied.

During the past few seasons, Azarak had gone into seclusion, leaving the day-to-day running of the city to his chancellor. He still made ceremonial appearances at important events but he had cancelled his regular public audiences, citing important matters of state. Most assumed he was working on a plan to curb Vantok’s lawlessness. Few would have been happy to learn the real reason.

“Your Majesty.” Toranim intercepted the king on his way to his private chambers.

“What news of the city today? Has it slipped into the Otherverse?”

Toranim favored him with a quizzical expression.

“Ignore me, my friend. Too much reading about things I still don’t understand.”

“The council continues to block plans for expanding the Watch through conscription. This is the fourth time in the past year. Some influential nobles are arguing that it will cripple the city financially and the guild masters are equally obstructive. Crime is an epidemic, but they don’t see that. It would be helpful, Your Majesty, if you were to address the council.”

Azarak made an noise of annoyance. The council had taken full advantage of his absence, usurping power to which they could claim no right. They were an
advisory
body, not a
governing
one. He supposed he had only himself to blame. Men of ambition never let vacuums of power go unfilled.

“The time has come, my friend, for me to regain control of this city. I have too long been sealed in my library, poring over dusty scrolls. If war and cataclysm come from a supernatural menace, there won’t be a more prepared ruler in all the land.”  Did that mean anything? Having knowledge and understanding how to apply it were different matters. And what of the Otherverse, an ominous term often repeated but never explained?

Toranim allowed relief to suffuse his features. If nothing else, the past weeks of stewardship had made him glad the throne was Azarak’s, not his. The pettiness of the disputes and the spitefulness of those pressing their claims had become a millstone around the chancellor’s conscience.

“Make a proclamation that I will resume my regular public audiences next week. For now, I must rein in my recalcitrant council. This dithering over conscription will cease. Draft a pronouncement to be read two days hence preparing for an expansion of the Watch and set a meeting with the commanders so they can be aware what will be expected of them.”

“But the council…”

“The council will do as they’re told! I’m the king. Don’t worry, Toranim, I have some thoughts that will soften the blow but, one way or the other, this will go forward. We’re far behind where we should be. Pray to the gods, if they still exist, that we haven’t fallen so far behind we’ll never be able to recover.”

“Aye, Your Majesty.”

“One more thing: summon Prelate Ferguson to the palace tomorrow morning. I want to see him before I do battle with my council.”  And he suspected it would be a battle - men like those seated on the council didn’t cede power easily once having usurped it. But Azarak was determined, even if it meant taking extreme action. He wouldn’t be the first king to summarily dismiss an entire council. It hadn’t been done in centuries, but there were precedents. The nobility and merchants might be nonplused, but the common people and the Watch would support him.

Later that night, unable to quiet  his mind, Azarak sat in a chair next to the fire instead of lying abed. As he gazed into the flames, he considered all he had learned during his long hours perusing some of humanity’s most cryptic literature.

The trouble was differentiating fact from fiction, separating truth from myth and speculation. Much of the material was contradictory, but there was enough consensus for him to be sure of a few basics.

According to legend, there had been a time when wizards were as common as nobles. They had existed alongside but separate from their human brethren, ruled over by the Wizard-King Malbranche and his brother (and successor), Altemiak. This was a fabrication of imaginative historians. Wizards had indeed walked the face of the planet but never in great numbers. At no time had there been more than four. Each wizard had been tied to one of the elements: air, water, earth, or fire. Only when a wizard had died could another take his or her place. Whether Malbranche or Altemiak had lived was a matter of conjecture but, if they had, they hadn’t presided over a thriving college of colleagues.

Many wizards came to wish they had never activated their talents. Those with untapped abilities could lead a normal life, never the wiser about what they could have been. Once triggered, however, the powers demanded use. An active wizard couldn’t reject his abilities. In ancient accounts, wizards spoke of a hunger for magic that exceeded the appetites for food, drink, and sex. The longer the power was denied, the greater the hunger became. The curse was that every use of magic, no matter how trivial, drained vitality from the wizard’s body. Although the raw source was siphoned from something cryptically referred to as the “Otherverse”, magic leeched away the user’s life force. Ascetic wizards, who spent their lives in a hell of magical abstinence, might live a normal human life span, but most wizards were burned out before having reached their age of Double Maturity, and many were dead long before that. Wizards were more inclined to indulge every whim than take a path of moderation.

The key to being a wizard was to learn the most economical ways in which to manipulate the elements. The less magic used in an act, the less damage to the user. Without guidance, no practitioner would be able to apply the restraint necessary for a long, productive life. If wizards were to be reborn in this day and age as a way to mitigate the end of the gods’ stewardship, Azarak felt nothing but sorrow for them. Wizards were to be honored, to be sure, but also to be pitied.

The capacity to use magic was an inherited trait. There were many instances of “wizard dynasties,” where the power ran through bloodlines, with generation after generation surviving the portal test that culled the magical from the non-magical. Wizards often married other wizards, increasing the likelihood that their children would have the ability. While there could never be more than four active wizards at any time, there were untold numbers of latents, each awaiting his or her turn.

One of Ferguson’s tasks had been to trace those venerable bloodlines through the centuries and determine if any remained active. The alternative, randomly picking young men and women to undergo a test where the price for failure was death, amounted to an inhumane lottery. But, considering what could be rising in the Deep South, there might not be another option. If a warmongering foe arose in The Forbidden Lands, the difference between having a wizard defender and not having one could mean the difference between Vantok’s continued existence or its fall.

Azarak bowed his head. His people clamored for him to find a queen. Perhaps he could make a good match with the Princess Myselene of Obis or the daughter of one of Vantok’s influential nobles. The goal, of course, wasn’t Azarak’s personal happiness but the sons and daughters who would provide a solid line of succession. Yet the king worried about the grim legacy he might leave to the future kings and queens of Vantok. With the future so bleak, might it be kinder to have no children at all? 

* * *

Ferguson, looking as cool and sedate as always, was sipping wine when a grumpy Azarak entered the private audience chamber. It wasn’t an early hour, but the king hadn’t slept well the previous night and the lack of rest left him in a foul mood. His hair was unkempt and his goatee wasn’t as neatly trimmed as was his wont.

“Your Majesty.” Ferguson rose and executed a slight, formal bow. Unlike the king, the prelate was impeccably groomed and coiffed. His eyes took in the king’s appearance with the same calm watchfulness that he observed everything.

“Prelate.” Azarak snatched a goblet of wine from a servant before impatiently waving him out of the room. The king sat opposite Ferguson, slumping in his chair.

“You look… troubled, Sire,” ventured Ferguson.

“Long hours poring over books will do that to a man. I wasn’t meant to be a scholar, yet I’ve probably spent more time in libraries than anyone not in the priesthood.”

“That would explain your recent absence from public view. There have been rumors that you’re ill. I inquired personally several times, but your esteemed chancellor assured me you were hale but ‘preoccupied.’”

“My preoccupation is at an end unless you’re willing to share those secret ecclesiastical scrolls you claim not to have.”

The corners of Ferguson’s mouth twitched upward in what might have been a smile. “Your Majesty, I have opened my library to you. There are, of course, some documents that may not be shared beyond the priesthood, but everything else has been made available.”

“So you’ve said on more than one occasion.”

“And you believe I prevaricate?”

“No. I think you’re telling the truth. I just wonder what’s contained in those other documents. I know you’re a man of secrets, Prelate. Those secrets give you power and mystique. If the gods are gone, those secrets may represent the basis of your continued power in a new order.”

“I believe you attribute sinister motives where there are none. If the gods are no more, it’s true that my ‘basis of power,’ as you put it, will erode. But I’m an old man and near to death so I have little need to find a source to replenish it. Like the gods, I need to prepare for a time when I am no more. Stockpiling secrets is hardly conducive to that goal.”

Azarak harrumphed. “I asked you here for two reasons, neither of which is to pry information about your secret library from you, although I trust that if you discover something in it useful to me, you’ll inform me?”

Ferguson nodded.

“Very well. Have you made any progress determining the identity of a possible wizard candidate?  As you supposed, the bloodline is a key. My skepticism remains about the return of magic, but there’s little doubt it’s a historical fact, not just a patchwork of myths. Our best chance of reviving the wizards, if they can be revived, is by finding those with the highest concentration of proven blood in their veins. But you know that. In fact, I suspect you’ve known it for a long time.”

Ferguson nodded. “I have, Your Majesty. I’ve studied in every library across the continent, and even one beyond. No one knows more about wizards and magic. It’s been my life’s work, as has been compiling a list of candidates. I’ve studied all the important wizard lines and matched them with descendants across the centuries. I’ve read birth records in great temples and small, out-of-the-way churches.”

This didn’t surprise Azarak. The ease with which Ferguson had offered to “begin” the search was evidence enough. The names the prelate held in close confidence might represent the city’s best chance at survival. Yet Eylene had warned him to
seek solace in the strength of arms not the myth of magic.
Skepticism was warranted - not only of Ferguson’s motives but hers as well.

Ferguson was continuing. “I must urge caution. Even someone with a strong pedigree may
not
have the inherent talent. Nine-hundred years is a long time. There’s no way to determine what impurities may have crept in during that interim. Indeed, at the height of the wizards’ era, when inbreeding was common, there were instances of children with powerful parents failing the test. Nothing is foolproof.”

“Nevertheless…”

“Nevertheless, I believe I have located someone.”

“Who?”

“I’m not prepared to say as yet, Your Majesty. This is a delicate matter and it wouldn’t do to be mistaken. There are some inconsistencies about the genealogy that bear further investigation. Rest assured, however, that once I am certain of the candidate, I’ll bring him to your attention.”

Azarak bit back an angry response. Ferguson would secrete the name until he felt the time was right. The king didn’t doubt the prelate had already vetted his selection but wasn’t yet ready to divulge the information. There was nothing Azarak could do to force the matter. Ferguson’s unique status limited the options when dealing with him.

Azarak decided to address another concern. “The candidate is only part of the equation. We also need access to a means by which his latent powers can be activated.”

Once, there had been a testing portal in every major city. Nine-hundred years ago, when the gods withdrew magic, so many promising young men and women died at the portals that they were all ordered destroyed. While it was rumored that one or two might have survived the purge, all the best remembered sites had been rendered useless. The king assumed there had been one in Vantok, but no evidence remained regarding its location. Even if found, it was doubtful it could be reconstituted.

Ferguson had his answer ready. “They weren’t all razed, although you won’t find one in any of today’s great human habitations. Some of the ancient seats of power which have long since fallen into ruins have portals that should still work, waiting silently to be used. We must cast our eyes southward to The Forbidden Lands, where Havenham, the greatest of all the southern cities, once stood. That’s our best chance.”