The Last Whisper of the Gods (24 page)

Alicia nodded. “We won’t be overheard. Have a care, though. Many of the priests are excellent lip readers and I’d wager a month of your wages someone’s watching.”

Rexall stifled a smile, thinking Alicia overestimated what the innkeeper paid him. “I’d expect no less from your caretakers. Nothing said or done in the prelate’s realm remains a secret from him. He ain’t only got spies, but spies to spy on the spies, and more spies to spy on them. People think his business is religion but it ain’t. It’s intelligence gathering. You could go to the farthest outpost in the North, well beyond Syre, and Ferguson would have a man in place there feeding him information on a regular basis.”

She covered her mouth as if the stifle a cough. “I assume this is about Sorial.”

“You mean you don’t think I’d pay a visit merely for the pleasure of your company?”

“You’d probably visit anyone with an opening between their legs.”

Rexall smiled. “Though it may surprise you, a woman needs a little more to qualify for a roll in the hay.”

“Such as?”

“Tits. You don’t have them to speak of, so I’ll leave you to Sorial. He doesn’t seem to mind them invisible.”

Alicia scowled but Rexall caught her glancing down at her chest. Strictly speaking, her breasts weren’t
that
small.

“Do you have a message for me?” Alicia asked when she regained her composure. Sorial had said he would send someone. She had been hoping it would be someone
else
.

“He’s still in the city,” said Rexall conversationally, stroking the beginnings of a mustache with his left thumb and forefinger. It seemed to be an unconscious gesture but was actually calculated to mask his lips from being read. “He never left. It’s surprising how easy it is to hide in the open. It would have been different if they made him a wanted man and started a manhunt, but the search is being kept low key. As far as we can tell, the only ones actively involved are your father’s guards, some of the priests, and perhaps a few select members of the Watch.”

“And whoever Warburm has employed.”

“There’s that. Sorial don’t know the names of his agents. But if Warburm located Sorial via contacts within the thieves’ guild, he ain’t made it known.”

“Do you see him often?”

“Occasionally. He’s got to be careful. I’m being watched, although it’s pretty easy for me to slip my watchers. They avoid whorehouses and those are some of my favorite places. I found an accommodating girl who’s willing to let Sorial and me talk while she’s pretending to service me.”

“
Pretending
?”

“Well, only pretending while Sorial’s there.”

“Next time you see him, tell him we may have an ally in Vagrum. If it came to an escape, we might be able to convince him to help.”

Rexall considered. “Escape ain’t in Sorial’s plans. Right now, he wants to give ’em a reason to sweat other than the heat. Eventually he’ll come into the open and negotiate.”

“So he’s seriously thinking about accepting their challenge?" Exactly what Vagrum had predicted and what she feared. "It could kill him! No one has survived the wizard’s test in nine hundred years, and there’s no reason to believe that will change with Sorial. These people, my father included, are acting out of desperation, not because there’s a real chance that Sorial can pass the test. He may have the perfect heritage, but that means nothing!”

“I’ve been telling him that for weeks. He ain’t listening. He’s convinced himself the only way he’ll be with you is to do what they need, though he wants to do it on his terms. He ignored my suggestion of what his next move should be.”

“Which is…?”

“Steal a horse and ride north as far and as fast as he can.”

“Bad advice,” said Alicia. “If he steals a horse, that will give them a reason to declare him an outlaw.”

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

“He could hire himself out as a mercenary to guard a merchant’s caravan.”

“He could, but he won’t. I told you, he ain’t going nowhere. For him, this is about
when
to approach Warburm and the others, not
whether
he’s gonna do it.”

Alicia nibbled on her lower lip, worrying at it until it started to bleed. “I have to meet with him,” she decided.

Rexall shook his head. “Not a good idea. It’d force him into the open. It ain’t as if you can sneak out of here and meet him in secret.”

That much was true. If she could escape from the temple, it wouldn’t merely be for a clandestine rendezvous.

“Tell him I forbid him to do this. Maybe that will make a difference.”

Rexall laughed. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’ll do the trick. But there may be more to this than winning you. He actually believes them when they say something terrible’s gonna happen. He thinks waiting fifteen years ain’t an option because we’ll all be dead by then.”

Alicia admitted she hadn’t given much consideration to the validity of the underlying threat. Recognizing its enormity, however, didn’t excuse the recklessness of the plot. Chasing dreams, fairy tales, and creatures of legend solved nothing, just as getting Sorial killed did no good for anyone. It might be different if they
knew
Sorial could be a wizard, but this was a blind act of desperation, a great
maybe
.

“Give Sorial my message.”

Rexall shrugged. “I'll do it when I see him, but don’t expect it to make any difference.”

“And don’t let him leave the city without seeing me first. Once he’s come into the open, there won’t be a reason for him to avoid me. If he’s going to get himself killed on this fool’s errand, I want to tell him what I think of it to his face.”

“I wish I could say he’s more likely to listen to you than me, but we both know there’s a streak of nobility in Sorial to match his stubbornness. Otherwise, you two would have been fucking like rabbits by now and you’d be carrying his child."

“Remind him not to trust anyone. Ferguson will trade gold for information and he has a deep treasury. These are ruthless people. You’re right - there’s something irritatingly noble about Sorial - and they’ll use that against him.”

Her Highness, the Royal Princess Myselene of Obis, had never been so uncomfortable in her sixteen years. Raised in the chilly northern climes, where “Summer” was the season when the ground softened enough for hardy vegetation to flourish, the furnace-like atmosphere of Vantok took her breath away as it reddened her pale skin and parched her throat. She had been excited about this trip south, which was years in the planning, but the heat had sapped as much of her enthusiasm as her energy.

As she gazed out across the red-tiled and thatched rooftops of the city from the west-facing porch adjoining the spacious guest quarters she had been given for her stay, she was again reminded how different Vantok was from the city where she had lived her entire life. Obis was a wild, hard city where the men were either merchants or soldiers. The weather was too harsh to make the growing of plants more than a hobby. Here, farming was a principal occupation, although the fields were fallow at the moment.

Myselene wandered through the huge open double doors separating the porch from her bedchamber. She gazed distractedly at her image in the looking glass mounted on the wall next to her changing table. She looked as bedraggled as she felt, with her normally full-bodied dark hair hanging limply over her shoulders, her ivory complexion blotched by red spots, and bruises underlining her violet eyes. The aquamarine dress she wore highlighted her curvy figure but was too hot for the climate. Rumor had it she was the greatest beauty in all the North. Rumor hadn’t seen her like this.

It was disheartening that her physical appearance wasn’t at its best, since her sole reason for going on this adventure - as she had always envisioned a journey to the South - was to catch the eye of the king. As well-schooled in politics as she was, she recognized that her beauty would be a secondary enticement if King Azarak was to pick her to be his future queen, but the lure of physical appeal couldn’t be discounted. Azarak’s next marriage would be primarily about alliances and political capital. As such, her primary assets weren’t her full breasts or her wide hips; they were the opportunities of increased trade with Obis, something that would benefit both cities, especially if a protected route could be forged through The Broken Crags mountain range, where all but the largest and best-defended merchant caravans feared to venture.

“Does Your Highness need something?” asked her maid, a girl of about as many years as her who had been “specially chosen” by Chancellor Toranim and the palace’s head housekeeper. That probably meant she was a spy. Myselene found her subservience annoying and wished the girl wasn’t always underfoot. There were servants in Obis, but not as many and they stayed out of the way until their presence was requested. This one hovered from dawn until dusk. Myselene had the peace of solitude only during evenings.

The princess was about to demur, then changed her mind. “Find me a washbasin filled with the coolest water possible.” Cold water, she had learned, was more greatly prized during Summer than fine wine, but the palace stored barrels deep in the cellars, where the damnable heat didn’t reach.

She had been given the morning to herself but was expected to spend the afternoon meeting with various local dignitaries. Once the core of the day’s heat was past, she would be given a tour of the city’s esteemed quarters. That would be followed by a private dinner with the king. It was important that she be at her best for the repast; it was unclear how many other opportunities she would have on her own with the object of her betrothal hunt.

Thus far, she had met Azarak only once, when he had greeted her two days ago upon her arrival. Her initial impression had been positive: the portrait she had seen didn’t do him justice. He was more handsome in person, although he looked older. She supposed that was what ruling a city in troubled times could do to a man. Unfortunately, his greeting, while proper and courteous, had lacked warmth. He had been rigid and formal and had seemed preoccupied. For Myselene, this had been a singular experience - she was unaccustomed to being overlooked. It made her all the more determined to dazzle the king at their dinner tonight. Before leaving Obis, she had been advised by a number of well-wishers to seduce Azarak with her eyes and the promise of her body. She intended to apply that advice. Her goal was to do
whatever
necessity demanded to secure a formal betrothal announcement, and she wasn’t about to let decorum or propriety block her path. Her stay was officially scheduled for three weeks but, if she achieved her aim, she would never depart Vantok. They need not wed immediately, but if the king was to renege on a binding agreement, he risked either war with Obis or bankrupting his treasury with reparation payments.

Myselene wasn’t under any delusions that her marriage would be a union of love. Even as a little girl, that had never been her expectation. She was a political pawn; her father had waited this long to put her into the game, hoping to use her to capture the biggest prize. If Azarak rejected her, there were countless lordlings in Obis who would gladly accept her hand, providing her with a life and home much like those enjoyed by her sisters. Her ambition, however, demanded more. Given the opportunity to marry a king, she intended to become a queen. Anything less would be unacceptable. Her father wanted this union for the benefits it would bring to his city; Myselene wanted it so her children would be royalty, not minor nobles.

She returned to the porch and resumed her perusal of the palace’s environs. The view to the north was dominated by a more grand structure than the one in which she resided: Vantok’s temple, known across the land as a masterpiece of craftsmanship and beauty - a tribute from men to gods. Between here and there, however, the haze generated by the day’s heat created a shimmering effect that made it difficult to identify distinct structures.

The maid returned with a basin of water just in time for Myselene to wash her face and make herself presentable before the chancellor arrived to introduce her to Vantok’s most influential nobility. Charming them wouldn’t be difficult. Seducing their ruler, however, might be a different matter.

* * *

“What do you think of her?” asked Azarak late that night as he and Toranim sat together in his chambers for their ritual end-of-the-day conference. The windows were all flung wide to admit a strong, warm breeze.

“More to the point, Your Majesty, what do
you
think of her? How was the dinner?”

Azarak considered. Myselene’s arrival had complicated matters. His preference would have been to delay her visit indefinitely but they had procrastinated long enough. Further dithering might be taken as an insult by Rangarak, the king of Obis, who had been rejecting marriage proposals from his own nobles until Myselene was presented to Azarak as a candidate for the next queen of Vantok. Her younger sister was already married - unusual for a Northern royal family, where matches were typically made sequentially from the eldest to the youngest. So, with the criminal element still not cowed and the mandatory conscription program undergoing birth pangs, Azarak was forced to play host to a foreign princess.

“It was... less onerous... than I expected,” admitted the king. Beforehand, he had anticipated a tedious evening with long bouts of silence punctuated by occasional doomed attempts at unenlightened conversation. That hadn’t been the case. Myselene’s seeming timidity had evaporated and she had proven knowledgeable about a great many more subjects than Azarak had expected. Whatever else she might be, the king of Obis’ middle daughter was no empty-headed princess with only her physical attributes to recommend her.

“Initially, she kept her eyes downcast and spoke hardly a word. I feared she’d prove to be as vapid as the other high-born ladies who have sought to ‘catch’ me. But when I asked her about the long journey, she became animated. After that, she forgot her shyness and was able to steer the conversation from topic to topic, displaying a deftness I’ve encountered only in men but with a vivacity that few learned people show.”

“Her reputation suggests she’s not only attractive but intelligent,” said Toranim. He knew the king would find that quality appealing, which was why he had pursued this match doggedly for nearly four years. Queen Amenia hadn’t been three seasons in her grave when the king of Obis first suggested the then-12-year old Myselene as a potential future bride for the bereaved king.

“She and I have several more meetings scheduled during her stay and I have to admit I no longer dread them.” Azarak paused and a frown creased his features. “I only wish she had come in less complicated times. How can I consider a marriage to Princess Myselene with so many other concerns threatening?”

“How can you not? Myselene is here, in your palace, and what she brings to a union is tangible: the potential to forge a strong relationship with Obis, whose armies at their weakest would be three times the size of ours at their strongest.”

It was one more thing to mull over. Although it was true that Obis was a city of hard-bred fighting men, it was a long distance away, and a battle for Vantok, if it came to that, might be won or lost long before aid could arrive.

Azarak changed topics, moving to another vexing issue. “What news of our recalcitrant would-be wizard?”

“He’s still unaccounted for.”

“Can’t say I blame him, considering the circumstances. What does the innkeeper say?”

“He isn’t worried. Says the boy’s too besotted with the duke’s daughter to abandon her, and the enticement of marriage is too great.”

“So he’s in hiding?”

The chancellor nodded. “So says Warburm. We have time to wait him out. Since the goal is to send him into The Forbidden Lands in search of the Havenham portal, Harvest is the optimum time to start the journey.”

“Are we certain Vantok’s portal can’t be used?”

“His Eminence says not. A souring of old records revealed that Warburm apparently owns the property where it once stood but he says there’s no trace of it. It was utterly razed. I looked into some rumors of a portal existing in the North, somewhere between Obis and Syre, but was unable to confirm anything. The site is reputed to be haunted and no one goes there. I passed a question about it to the prelate and he replied that the location in The Forbidden Lands is the only credible one.”

Azarak doubted that. It was more likely that Ferguson didn’t want anyone else to know of additional portal locations. “He always knows more than he claims.”

“That may be the case, although he has no reason to hide it. If there was a way the boy could be transformed without having to make a dangerous journey into The Forbidden Lands, Ferguson would attempt it, but he believes all the northern portals were destroyed during the post-wizard era to ‘prevent headstrong would-be heroes killing themselves in fruitless attempts to validate non-existent magical abilities.’”

That agreed with the king's studies. Once the gods took back the gift of magic, even those with latent abilities had died if they attempted to use a portal. Men became so frightened of losing sons and daughters that they smashed portals and buried their locations.

“I’m not entirely comfortable with the way this has been handled. Ferguson orchestrating an underground society seeking to locate a candidate for the role of Vantok’s wizard protector... A few years ago, I would have called it madness, and this has been going on for longer than a few years.”

“And today?”

“Desperation. I’ve read the tomes and scrolls, Toranim, and I know how unlikely it is that this stableboy, above every person in all the cities, will be able to pass the test and be welcomed by the portal. One in one thousand - those are his most optimistic odds. We’re likely manipulating him to his death because there’s the faintest of faint chances he could have the potential. We don’t even know if magic is possible - that, as Ferguson argues, its return was a parting gift from the gods.”

“Your Majesty, if it comes to war, you’ll have to send far more than just one boy into harm’s way. Men will die at your command - many of them. Unless you intend to abdicate, you must steel yourself to make these decisions. And if this boy fails, we’ll turn to Prelate Ferguson to identify the next candidate. He’s been cultivating this lad for nearly two decades. This is no idle, random pick. And most probably not the only one available to him.”

“I understand that, Toranim,” said Azarak testily. No one knew better than he that the
possibility
of a wizard was too powerful a lure to ignore, but he was irritated at how much had been done behind his back - how the supposedly most powerful man in the city was powerless in this matter. “But this borders on treason. A conspiracy that has festered and grown within this city.”

“That’s a bruised ego speaking, Your Majesty, not the judgment of a shrewd ruler.” When bluntness was called for, Toranim didn’t shrink from it. Had he been a sycophant, Azarak’s first queen would likely still be alive. “Ferguson is outside your authority and the roots of this ‘conspiracy’, as you call it, began far from Vantok. The boy’s mother hails from Syre. This may be many things, Your Majesty, but it isn’t treason. Quite the opposite, in fact. This group has provided you with an option that, should it come to fruition, might save both your reign and this city.”

“Even with a wizard, this war - if it comes to pass - is far from won. The thing that convinced me magic may have returned isn’t the thousands of moldering scrolls I’ve pored over or the dry dissertations of our learned prelate. It’s that no force other than magic can be responsible for the unnatural heat that’s brought our city to heel. It makes me fear what may be brewing in the infernal Forbidden Lands where we’re sending our best hope.”