The Last Whisper of the Gods (31 page)

“Look, Milady, it won’t work. Suppose you manage to convince your captors to let you roam the city. Do you think they’ll be content with having you watched by a small contingent of handlers? You ain’t no anonymous figure. Sorial could remain hidden in plain sight for weeks because no one knew who he was - some random stableboy who looks pretty much like every other stableboy. You, on the other hand, are the Lady Alicia the Wizard’s Bride. The moment you slipped past your handlers, there’d be a city-wide hunt for you. You’d never make it past the border guards or the Watch patrols searching for you.”

“What do you suggest?” Rexall was right, of course, but his scolding manner made it difficult to accept his advice.

“First, you can’t muscle your way out. I got no doubt Vagrum could overpower whatever small escort you’d have, but even he ain’t a match for an armed group of guardsmen. You need to find a way to sneak out, preferably under cover of night, in such a way that your absence ain’t noticed for hours. Then you contact someone in the city who can provide you with a disguise and help you get out of Vantok. If all that can be done before your disappearance is noticed, you’ll stand a chance of escaping. Finding Sor is another matter.”

Alicia looked at Rexall with an expression somewhere between irritation and contempt. “A brilliant plan!” she exclaimed. “Now all I need is a wizard to help me pull it off. Sneaking out of the temple in the middle of the night? Every door except the front one is locked at sundown and there’s no way to slip past the contingent guarding that entrance. Perhaps you could confine yourself to ideas within the realm of the possible.”

Rexall shrugged. “Nothing’s impossible. Difficult, yes. Impossible, no. And in this case, you ain’t got no choice. That’s how it’s got to be done.”

His smugness and nonchalance, whether feigned or not, aggravated Alicia. “How?” she demanded.

“As it happens,” said Rexall with a smirk. “I got an idea. Courtesy of your betrothed.”

* * *

Two days later, Alicia invited Vagrum to accompany her on a stroll through the courtyard.

After reaching up to wipe a bead of perspiration from her forehead, Alicia commented, “I think it’s getting a little cooler. When I arise in the morning, my bedding isn’t as soaked with sweat as it was a few weeks ago.” Still, it hadn’t been many years past when she would have been dressing in heavier clothing and exchanging her muslin underclothes for woolen ones while her father stocked his winter woodpile in preparation for the all-day and all-night fires that would warm his mansion through the cold, dark weeks. Considering how far away the nearest forest was, it had been an expensive annual proposition.

“Even in this heat, Harvest is cooler than Summer, and Winter cooler than Harvest. Every year, Midwinter’s Day is warmer. We’re fast approaching the point when the growing season will be too short and the only source of food will be from merchants. Riots, famine, disease... that’s when the city will fail. I’ve seen it once before on a smaller scale. That time, it were cold, not heat, but there ain’t much difference in the end.”

Time to put his allegiance to the test.
“Vagrum, you know I have to stop Sorial. Or at least try.”

“There’s nothing to be done, Milady. He’s gone. Him and Warburm and the others left the city days ago.”

“Which is why it must be done soon. I’m just waiting for one detail to be worked out. Will I have your help?”

Vagrum cast his eyes down. He stopped walking. “My help?”

“Come, Vagrum. You know what I’m asking. Your help getting out of here and going after Sorial.”

“I can’t, Milady. Don’t ask me...”

Steel crept into Alicia’s voice. “I don’t have a choice. You’re the only one I can trust. Or can I? I thought that once before.” She knew that would drive the knife deep and twist it, but she had no time to spare his feelings.

“Please understand,” he pleaded. “To do this would put you in danger. While you’re in here, no one can touch you. Out there, the roads ain’t never inviting to a young woman. The farther you get from Vantok, the more appealing you’ll be as prey.”

“Which is precisely why I need you. There will be four of us including you, but none of the others is capable of much in the way of intimidation. Your presence alone would scare off most predators. And, if it comes to a fight, you’re the best guardian we could hope for. I’m doing this with or without you but, if you care about my well-being and Sorial’s life...”

She hated putting him in this position, but she was in earnest. She recognized this violated his scruples, but the situation was such that she couldn’t afford to care about such niceties. She wasn’t by nature callous, but this was Sorial’s
life
.

Rexall’s reworking of her escape scenario meant that she didn’t need Vagrum to get out of the temple. But after that, on (and off) the road to her destination, his aid would be invaluable. She could do it without him, although Rexall might back out if he learned the “muscle” wouldn’t be accompanying them, but it would be harder. Perhaps impossible.

“What do you need of me, Milady?”

In less dire circumstances, Alicia might have smiled. “I need you to go to Rexall and make sure everything’s in place. Unless something changes, we go tomorrow night. Let him know you’ll be in the party and he’ll give you instructions about how to proceed. And check that he’s made contact with the last member of our group and there won’t be any problems.”

“Is he trustworthy, Milady?” asked Vagrum, meaning Rexall.

“Not in all things, but I think he’s sincere about Sorial. And if he was going to betray me, he’s had numerous opportunities before now. There are limits to how much he’ll sacrifice, so we have to be careful not to ask too much.”

“And where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet. But we’ll have a direction and a destination before we leave the city or there’s no point leaving. That’s where Rexall’s powers of persuasion come into play.” She could only hope the rogue’s golden words and winning smile were sufficient to swell the ranks of their small group from three to four or the journey to save Sorial would die a directionless death within the city confines of Vantok.

Warburm was worried, and that was a cause for concern. The unflappable innkeeper had seen a chance encounter blossom into a potential nightmare, and the situation was made worse by his realization - unvoiced but shared by his fellow travelers - that it could have been avoided had they not approached the encampment.

Their pursuers hadn’t given up, but neither had they gained ground. Warburm didn’t stop to rest during the night, hoping to create enough distance that the nomads would abandon the chase, but that didn’t happen. Lamanar’s early morning scouting mission revealed they were still coming, unhurried but determined, and the size of the group had tripled to more than twenty. Battle, at least with the goal of victory, was no longer an option.

Although Warburm continued to assert that this was a group of “rough men” seeking easy prey, Sorial didn’t believe it. Nor, he suspected, did anyone else, Warburm included. Sorial was a target and someone or something had tracked or recognized him.

“We need to make for the coast,” declared Warburm. “There ain’t nothing we can do to stop them hunting us overland but, once we reach the shore, we can hide our tracks.”

It was a solid plan with one obvious flaw. As soon as their pursuers recognized where they were going, it would become a race and, tired as they were, they weren’t in a position to win it. The rough men were content to move slowly now, maintaining a steady gap, but it was only a matter of time before they began an attack run.

“How far are we?” asked Sorial.

“’Bout two days,” said Warburm. “If we only stop for short rests, we can be there by dawn on the day after the morrow.” It sounded like a long way in the future - too long if their pursuers increased their pace. And too long without proper sleep.

“We could make a stand here,” said Brindig. “Rest up and wait for them. We’ll catch them unawares; ain’t something they’ll be expecting. We’ll be rested and they won’t be. If they keep pushing us and we keep running, we’ll be exhausted by the time they catch us.”

“I done considered it,” admitted Warburm. “And if I thought it would give us the victory, I’d be for it. But they outnumber us too badly to take such a risk. Make for the coast - that be the best plan.”

“Lad,” said Warburm, addressing Sorial. “If it comes to a battle, you run. Don’t hang around thinking you can make a difference. Your death makes it all pointless. Find the coast and follow it. Eventually you’ll get to a village. They’ll tell you the way back to Vantok.”

“If you told me where we’re headed, I could make my way there instead of...”

“Alone out here, you’d be dead within a day,” said Lamanar coldly. “Your priority is staying alive. If you lose your escort and try to reach the goal, you’ll fail. If we die, it’s up to you to ensure there’s a purpose to our deaths. That means staying alive, getting a new escort, and coming back to fulfill your task. It doesn’t mean struggling on and getting killed in the process. Duke Carannan says you’re good with a sword and knife, but that prowess won’t be enough in The Forbidden Lands.”

Sorial directed a black look at the baked earth beneath his feet. He could think of few things less appealing than returning to Vantok in failure, enduring a long wait while another company was assembled, then repeating this journey. One way or another, he wanted this over. He didn’t want it to turn into the lifelong obsession it had become for Warburm, Lamanar, Ferguson, Kara, and others.

“There be one thing you should know,” said Warburm, after a moment’s deliberation with himself. “We foreseen this as a possibility, Ferguson and I. Getting to the portal was always gonna be more dangerous than using it. There be others who could head up a second party. Our group got more’n two-dozen capable men. If it comes to it, next time it’ll be bigger and better armed. If you return to Vantok alone because we failed, you’ll be allowed to wed the Lady Alicia before leaving a second time. Coming back would be proof enough of your loyalty.”

Sorial didn’t know whether to believe that. It sounded good, an inducement beyond all others. There was logic in it. If he showed himself to be committed, there was no need to reserve Alicia as a “reward.” But it might also be a lie, spun to make him eager to return to Vantok rather than run off and hide if things went wrong. The problem was culling fact from fiction in the words of a known liar.

They trudged on in silence for most of the day. Sorial frequently looked over his shoulder but could see nothing except the burned, waist high grass through which they moved. He noticed they were leaving an obvious trail but didn’t think there was anything to be done about it, at least in this terrain. As evening approached, Warburm called a halt. The ground was no longer as flat as it had been for days. Its gentle undulations heralded the approach of foothills that would lead them into the mountains that appeared like a bruise on the southern horizon. Sorial wondered if they would ever get that far, although he knew it to be their ultimate destination. Except they weren’t headed there, at least at the moment. Instead, they were angling to the west, hoping to intercept the coast.

Lamanar disappeared as soon as they halted. Sorial had to admire the man’s stamina. He kept going while they rested and never seemed the worse for it. The trip was hardest on Warburm, who had probably sweated off ten percent of his body weight since they departed Vantok. His face was red and he was wheezing, but he repeatedly dismissed suggestions that his endurance was a concern. “I been fat much of my life an’ I been to every corner of this land. You don’t need to worry ’bout me. Worry ’bout yourself.”

It was less than an hour before Lamanar returned. “They’re closer,” he told Warburm. “But they’ve made camp. They’re not staking tents, so they don’t plan a long stay, but they’re setting up fire pits, so they plan to eat. My guess is they’ll be stopped for at least three or four hours.”

“Their numbers?” asked Warburm.

“About the same as before. Difficult to be sure. They may have picked up one or two more. Still enough to overwhelm us.”

“No problems following our trail?”

Lamanar shrugged. “A blind man could follow it, but there’s not much we can do. If I didn’t track back along our route, I’d leave a trail, too. No way to hide passing through grass this brittle.”

“Unless the grass be gone,” mused Warburm.

Sorial didn’t guess the innkeeper’s meaning but Lamanar did. His eyes widened with incredulity. “You can’t be serious!”

“Not yet, but if it be our last chance...”

“What?” demanded Sorial.

“Start a little fire,” said Warburm. “’Cept in this grass, there be no such thing as a ‘little’ fire. It will grow so big and spread so wide that not even the best trackers will be able to find us.”

“And it’s as likely to burn us up as confound our pursuers. Once you start it, you can’t control it. One errant breeze in the wrong direction, and we’re done for. And that includes Sorial.”

“If it comes to that,” said Warburm, “I’ll send him ahead as a precaution.”

Sensing an opportunity to put additional distance between themselves and their pursuers, they began moving as quickly as possible but, as the light faded, the increasingly uneven terrain made travel perilous. They couldn’t risk even the minor injury of a turned ankle, so movement without torches, lanterns, or moonlight became a slow and tricky business. It was unlikely their pursuers were so hampered since they weren’t constrained by the need to move in secrecy.

Sometime after midnight, Warburm called a halt, frustrated at the slowness of their progress. “We need to wait till dawn,” he said. “It be pointless stumbling in the dark like this; someone’ll break a leg. Damn ground became our enemy when we can least afford it. We might as well use the time to rest and get started again at first light.”

“I’ll range back a little and keep a watch...” began Lamanar.

Warburm shook his head. “Get some sleep. At least a few hours. First watch be mine. We’ll see ’em coming a long ways off by the light of their torches. If they done camped long enough, we might still have a head start in the morning. We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

Sorial curled up on the ground, forgoing the bedroll, which didn’t add much in the way of comfort. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep almost immediately. When he awoke, however, something wasn’t right.

It was still dark and the stars’ feeble light illuminated little. He couldn’t see his fellow travelers. His ears detected no sound beyond the heavy breathing of his companions. But he knew someone else was close. He could sense a silent presence among them. He rose to a sitting position and reached for his knife. The hiss of his clothing against the ground as he shifted sounded unnaturally loud. He froze, his heart thudding in his chest.

Words spoken out of the darkness startled Sorial with their closeness while shocking the rest of the party to wakefulness. “I come in peace and mean you no harm.” It was a soft voice, one that held no hint of danger.

Sorial held the dagger ready. During his tenure at the duke’s estate, he had been taught to fight blindfolded and believed he could give a good accounting of himself in the darkness if called upon to do so. Some inner sense told him, however, that this encounter wouldn’t be resolved by a physical confrontation.

Warburm’s answering challenge was direct. “Who be there, to sneak up on travelers catching a night’s sleep?” Sorial had no doubt the innkeeper waited with a naked weapon in his hands. By the shuffling around him, he knew the others had armed themselves. But the darkness might defeat them all if it came to a fight.

“You can put down your weapons, travelers. I am Eylene of the Farthan, and I seek only to help those who appear lost and in distress close to the lands I call home.” Luminescence sprung to life from something small cradled in her hand. It was a soft light, more blue than orange - not bright enough to be seen at great distances but sufficient to keep the immediate darkness at bay.

Dimly, Sorial was aware of Brindig and Darrin to his left and Lamanar to his right. Warburm’s voice came from directly behind him. His eyes locked with the speaker’s intense green orbs. She looked like fairy tale elf: high cheekbones, pointed ears, and upswept eyebrows. Her hair was of the purest red. She was slender and short - Sorial was on his haunches and his head was level with hers. She stood a scant two feet from him but made no threatening moves.

Yet there was something about her...

“So you claim to be an elf, eh?” demanded Warburm, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.

Eylene raised one eyebrow in a characteristic gesture. “I claim to be nothing more than what I am. I am Eylene of the Farthan tribe. You are human. I am elf. These are facts, not claims.”

Warburm circled around until he was within Sorial’s field of vision. Standing as far from the light as he was, he was veiled in shadow. “Never heard of this ‘Farthan’ tribe and, as near as I can remember, there ain’t been no elves in human lands for centuries.”

“We are a reclusive people,” said Eylene. “We retired from the lands of men long ago and have since dwelt in places where you rarely venture. The Farthan has established a settlement to the south, in a place you call ‘The Forbidden Lands.’”

“If that be true, you be a long way from home.”

“Not so far as you might imagine. Perhaps closer than you are to yours. If I read you aright, you are men of Vantok. I have visited your city in recent years.”

“If that were true, you done kept yourself well hidden. What brings you here? By my reckoning, we be several days from the northern reaches of The Forbidden Lands.”

“You are being hunted by your own kind. Without aid, you will be caught before the sun next sets. You will be killed and quite possibly eaten - food is scarce in these parts. All, that is, except this one.” She pointed at Sorial. “He is the one they seek, the one upon whose head has been placed a handsome bounty.”

Warburm stiffened at these words, but Sorial’s attention was on Eylene, not him. The harder he tried to make out her features, the more difficult they became to see clearly. Something about them was almost... evasive.

“Me? Why?” he asked.

She met his eyes again, an appraising look. “I do not know,” she acknowledged. “But powerful men believe you to be important. The reward is impressive for your head but more generous if you are delivered intact with your heart still beating.”

“Why help us?” asked Lamanar.

“The Farthan seek an alliance with Vantok. It would demonstrate our goodwill if we helped citizens to escape from a trap.”

“And how would you help us?”

“There is a small group of nomads nearby - a poorly armed hunting party who could be easily overcome by men of your obvious fighting experience. I can lead you to their camp.”

“How would that help us?” Warburm echoed Lamanar.

“They are mounted. Five men, five horses. The horses are not in the best condition - they suffer from malnourishment and dehydration - but they have sufficient stamina to carry you to safety, although not all the way back to Vantok. The final part of that journey you will have to make afoot.”

“I see,” said Warburm. “And what would your price be for this?”

“Price? I require no remuneration. Merely that upon your return to Vantok you seek an audience with King Azarak to tell him you encountered me and I rendered aid.”