Rangarak’s visage darkened. “You’ve gone too far, Vice Chancellor.”
“On the contrary, Your Majesty. I’ve done what my position requires - investigate wrongdoing and act in the best interests of the city. The miscreants in this case needed to be punished but what good would it serve to play out the spectacle of a public trial? Rumors about an assassination are already quieting - why resurrect them? And why court open hostility, and perhaps war, with Andel?”
“Obis doesn’t fear war, especially when wronged.”
“True, but the economic consequences of crushing Andel could be ruinous. That city has too little to offer to be worth the trouble. And, if we are weakened, the other cities might seek to take advantage. The vultures would circle, Your Majesty, perhaps from as far distant as Vantok.”
Rangarak didn’t say anything. He knew Gorton was right. From a practical standpoint, the vice chancellor’s approach - to act decisively but silently - was the best way to handle a tricky situation. The conspiracy likely didn’t reach all the way to Andel’s throne; creating a diplomatic crisis as a result was foolish. But he felt cheated. He craved revenge. It had been stolen from him.
“You’ve shown them too much mercy, Vice Chancellor.”
Gorton’s tone hinted at regret. “I wish it could have been otherwise, Your Majesty. Truly I do. But there are times when the needs of diplomacy can’t be denied. The queen’s assassins are in their graves. Let that be an end to the matter.”
“As you say, Vice Chancellor. But this will always be in my thoughts when I negotiate with Andel or her ambassadors.”
After Gorton departed, Rangarak retired to his chambers. He had to move forward. He had known of other kings and queens who, paralyzed by grief after the death of a loved one, had allowed their plans to crumble. King Searamar of Obis, who had ruled four centuries ago, could have formed The Second Empire of Obis in the North had his wife not gone mad and slain herself and his five children. Blinded by sorrow, he had made mistake after mistake and might have ruined the city if an assassin’s arrow hadn’t pierced his left eye. Rangarak was determined not to suffer a similar fate. He was a strong man. He would overcome this as he had overcome so many other things.
He called for a servant to summon Myselene. Rangarak didn’t have a fatherly relationship with any of his children, although he monitored them more closely than they realized. His son already knew what the future held for him. It was time that he informed his middle daughter how she would play into his plans. By leaving Obis, she would become the most important cog in a stratagem that would take decades to unfold. Rangarak was cognizant that it might not reach fruition until long after his ashes had joined Selene’s. But he would not be the first king to leave behind the beginning moves in a long game for his successor to continue.
Although Myselene physically favored her mother, her spine was made of a sterner stuff than Selene’s. She had inherited that trait from him. Her intelligence surpassed even his own, and he considered himself to be more shrewd than anyone credited him for. She was obedient but not subservient.
“You asked to see me, Father?”
“Now that your mother’s left us, it’s time you were made aware of the plans we’ve made for your future.” Using the word we was a liberty; Selene had never been party to any of Rangarak’s decisions about their children. “Unlike your sisters, you’re not fated to become a trophy for the son of a duke or baron.”
“I’m ready for whatever you wish.”
“You’re destined for royalty.”
“I’m a princess,” she said proudly.
“Bah. ‘Princess’ means nothing. Any woman who spreads her legs for me can make a princess. When I say royalty, I mean ‘Queen.’”
The puzzlement on Myselene’s face indicated that she failed to grasp the meaning of Rangarak’s pronouncement. He had to remind himself that, despite her maturity in many things, she was only seven years old. Her attention remained rapt. “I cannot be the queen. You’re my father.” Incest wasn’t disallowed by Obis’ Law but the potential defects of inbreeding made it verboten. Weaklings and half-wits could not ascend to the throne.
“Not of Obis. There are five other cities.”
“You would send me away?”
“Not soon, little one. But it’s your destiny to bring the culture and power of Obis to the South. In two generations, we will have cousins on the thrones of every city. It begins with you and this is a duty you must devote yourself to. Tell no one but make becoming a queen your first and foremost goal. If you fail, you fail not only yourself and me but the city of your birth and the future of your people. I set this solemn task before you and will rely on your tutors, especially Vice Chancellor Gorton, to prepare you for it. Do you understand?”
“Not entirely,” she admitted. “But I’ll come to.”
Later in the day, Rangarak informed his chief advisor of his instruction to Myselene. Gorton offered little in the way of commentary but Rangarak was convinced that the vice chancellor, with his long view of distant horizons, had already charted his daughter’s life from today until her Maturity. The die had now been cast, starting Myselene’s transformation from favorite daughter to invaluable pawn.
It was fortunate, Rangarak mused, that Gorton wasn’t an ambitious man. The vice chancellor was the most talented of the Iron King’s vassals and, if he had designs on the throne, it would have been necessary to remove him. But Gorton was the rare individual who enjoyed wielding power and influence from the shadows. His loyalty, like his abilities, was without question. That made him the perfect subject. Rangarak knew that if his scheme was to succeed, it would be in large part because of this man’s efforts. Gorton would retain his official title as Vice Chancellor and unofficial designation as Spymaster. But his new role as Dynasty Builder would represent the foundation of his legacy.
The Spymaster
Here, many of the events recounted from Rangarak’s perspective in “The Iron King” are related from Gorton’s point-of-view. There are, as one might expect, some glaring differences. This story also transpires about five years prior to the beginning of the trilogy.
Vice Chancellor Gorton, chief advisor and spymaster for King Rangarak of Obis, was an ambitious man - it’s just that his ambition didn’t follow traditional arteries. For one such as him, blessed with superior cunning and intelligence but limited physical prowess, the concept of sitting on a throne and leading men in battle held little appeal. He found the former boring and the latter tiring. His current position allowed him to act the puppeteer for a ruler who wasn’t aware of the strings. King Rangarak was easily manipulated; although the Iron King was shrewder than many gave him credit for, he was predictable. Gorton didn’t like the tyrant but he respected him and it was to his advantage for Rangarak to have a long reign. In fact, his own grandiose plan for the future of the continent demanded the current ruler’s longevity (among other things). He and Rangarak had a shared passion for empire building but their methods for achieving the end goal were vastly different. For Gorton, it was all about deals, matchmaking, and the occasional assassination. The more military-minded Iron King undoubtedly saw a role for his army in the process but the spymaster was committed to avoiding war. Not only was it messy but it needlessly wasted lives and made any subsequent ruling structure unstable.
Gorton bore the official title of “Vice Chancellor” only because he didn’t want the marginally more respected “Chancellor.” That office was held by the aging and increasingly senile Fogram, who had filled the role for five decades, dating back to the early days of Rangarak’s father’s rule. It would be simple to have Fogram eliminated - the deaths of old men were rarely challenged - but the current order suited Gorton. Vice Chancellors were lesser targets than Chancellors and they enjoyed greater freedom. Whereas Fogram was forced to accompany Rangarak to all functions, Gorton enjoyed his autonomy.
Gorton’s reputation within social circles was that of a womanizer. He cut a dashing figure and the sal
acious whispers about his character aroused the interest of nearly every female at court regardless of her marital status. Gorton was cautious with his conquests, however, ensuring that the women he bedded were looking for a dalliance instead of a more permanent attachment. Gorton demanded discretion and he had it within his power to silence a tongue that threatened to wag, although such a thing had never been necessary. He enjoyed carnal pleasure but, unlike many men, he wasn’t ruled by what rested between his legs.
But he had made a mistake. The problems had started because the affair appealed to his vanity. After all, she was the most lovely, desirable woman in the whole of the city and there had been a formidable challenge associated with wooing her. He hadn’t seen the jaws of the trap or, if he had, he had been convinced he could escape them. However, after spending eight years as Queen Selene’s on-again/off-again lover, he was becoming concerned. The queen had started making veiled threats that, if carried out, would result in both their heads being mounted on pikes. Like most women, her actions were provoked by emotion, not logic. Sometimes, that could be an asset. This was not one of those times.
When he tried explaining the precariousness of their situation if she abandoned discretion, she rebuffed him. “Rangarak is so convinced of my fidelity that he would never believe I strayed, and certainly not with his dearest of advisors.”
“My dear, if we flaunt our affair, even Rangarak can’t fail to notice. And once he does, nothing will save us. Jealousy can make a meek, cultured man into a barbarian. Your husband is neither meek nor cultured.” Gorton had seen the kinds of sadistic tortures Rangarak had devised for those accused of a personal slight. He possessed a strong stomach but had been unable to watch many of those to the finish. Recognizing his wife’s faithlessness would be a blemish on both his honor and manhood.
“Then let’s run away. Go south out of this gods-forsaken cold to a place where we can run naked through the fields all the year round.”
He wondered if that’s how she saw the South. He knew it was a common misconception among Northerners who had never ventured beyond The Broken Crags. Many who made the trip were disheartened to know that snow could fall as far away as Vantok and Winter was not a vanquished season. When it came, it gripped the entire continent, not just the cities of Andel, Obis, and Syre.
“The hand of Obis is long and powerful. There’s no place we could hide where we wouldn’t be found.” He wondered if that was true. The paramount reason for Obis’ reach was because of his spy network. If he disappeared, for whatever reason, Rangarak would be blinded, at least temporarily. But Gorton didn’t want to run away; he had spent half his life developing his current power base and establishing himself as the second-most powerful man in Obis. The last thing he wanted to do was throw it away on a woman’s whim.
Selene snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Rangarak is a boor who sees me as property to sate his desire when he tires of his concubines. I’m the royal broodmare - nothing more. The only reason he has been visiting my bed lately is because he’d like another son. Apparently Grushik isn’t all he hoped for and his other recognized offspring, unfortunately, lack cocks. If I disappeared, he’d be more relieved than angry.”
Gorton knew that wasn’t true. Selene’s disappearance, especially if it became publically acknowledged that she had run away with another man, would drive Rangarak to act recklessly. If he suspected she had gone south, he might well commit Obis’ entire army to an invasion. Ruinous wouldn’t begin to describe the consequences. But Selene couldn’t see that. She had constructed a mental image of her husband that didn’t match well with the real one.
As the days passed, Gorton became increasingly alarmed by things the queen said and did. Selene had always been emotional but this was the first time irrationality had motivated her actions. It was almost as if she wanted to be caught. The more he tried to talk her out of it, using sound, lucid arguments, the more intransigent she became. This was no mere whim. The fantasy of fleeing from Rangarak was gaining momentum in her mind; it wasn’t long before she would act on it. Gorton could sense a scythe hanging over his neck and he gradually came to realize that only something drastic and unthinkable would keep his head attached to his shoulders. The Queen of Obis would have to die.
The question became not how to kill her - Gorton had dozens of means at his disposal - but how to accomplish his designs without anyone suspecting it was murder. Rangarak had to believe her death was either the result of a disease or a tragic mishap. Initially, Gorton considered arranging an “accident.” The problem with that was there was no way to guarantee Selene’s death. If she slipped while climbing a staircase, the fall might only injure her. More secure methods, such as tumbling from a great height, were almost impossible to orchestrate. This was, after all, the queen of Obis not some kitchen maid. Outside of her bedchamber, she was always accompanied by at least two of her most loyal guards - men who could neither be bought nor intimidated.
Despite being well versed in the varieties and uses of toxins, poisoning was not among Gorton’s favorite tools, although he couldn’t deny its efficacy. This had to do with his upbringing. In the North, and Obis especially, people were told to face their foes not hide from them. Poison was a coward’s weapon. It was also an assassin’s best friend and there were times when no other method would deliver the desired results. Whatever latent misgivings he might have about using poison, he couldn’t deny its necessity in this situation. Selene had to die. She had to die soon. And she had to die in a manner that wouldn’t cast suspicion on anyone (him in particular).
Gorton rarely used exotic poisons; the most reliable, he had found, were the most common. Unfortunately, skilled healers could typically detect and counteract these - antidotes were as readily available as the substances themselves - so it would be necessary to go farther afield. After an extensive consideration of his options, the spymaster settled on a rare concoction imported from far-off Basingham - a distillation brewed from the venom of a serpent and the secretions of a flower that grew in a marsh south of the city. The blend was expensive but not beyond Gorton’s means. He knew a reliable vendor and arranged the transaction through his normal, secure channels, ensuring that, in the unlikely event that a healer identified the poison, its source wouldn’t be traceable to him. In fact, he established a scapegoat, making it appear that the odious Duke Callifan had made the purchase.
Dosing the queen proved to be surprisingly easy. The poison’s slightly acidic taste and pink color were easily camouflaged by Selene’s favorite wine, a deep, rich red. It took four days and as many measures to exhaust his supply and, by the time he had administered the final portion, her health was already beginning to fade. The poison’s initial effects were to mimic a bad case of the cramps that occasionally assailed women of child-bearing age but, when the palace healer applied the usual nostrums, they grew worse rather than abating. By the time the man recognized that he was dealing with something more serious than originally diagnosed, the window in which the queen’s life might be saved had closed.
Rangarak was initially as unconcerned as his healer but, when the queen began to cancel public appearances - a rarity for a woman who adored interacting with her subjects - he started to pay closer attention to his wife’s treatment. Then came the “improvement” Gorton had been expecting - a false sign of hope that heralded the end. He delivered the news to the king before one of Rangarak’s twice-weekly public audiences: “I bear word of Her Majesty’s condition. Healer Patrick has opined that she is better this morn and may be well enough to attempt a short constitutional after her midday meal.” He knew his words likely doomed Patrick; the Iron King would hold the healer responsible for Selene’s death, especially after declaring that his treatments had “restored” her. So be it. Gorton had never much cared for the healer; his inflated sense of self-importance had never been warranted by his meager abilities.
The news cheered Rangarak, at least temporarily. The next day, Queen Selene seemed almost her normal
self. She allowed her children to gather around her sick bed. She entertained visits from her husband, Gorton, and several of her close female confidantes. Despite her good spirits, Gorton noticed something not right about her eyes. Over the course of the afternoon and into the next day, she became increasingly manic. Shortly thereafter, her condition declined precipitously. She suffered a series of seizures before losing consciousness and eventually dying.
Gorton felt a profound sense of sadness at Selene’s passing. She had, after all, been his lover for many years. He would miss her gentle, knowing touch. They had spent many pleasurable hours in each other’s company. Moreover, the removal of her mollifying influence on Rangarak would make the king less tractable. But there were no pricking of conscience. It had been necessary. One did not kill a queen without good reason and Gorton believed himself to have had the best reason possible. Her self-destructive attitude had put them both on the path to the headsman. One way or the other, she would have perished. His actions had at least assured that one of them would survive.
On the day of Queen Selene’s funeral, the grieving city was quiet and the weather conspired with the grayness of the occasion. A sloppy snow coated everything with a mess that made roads and pathways treacherous. The burning was private, held behind the palace walls, but huge throngs gathered outside, a testimony to the queen’s reputation among the hardened populace. They had loved their queen and now she, like so many colorful and gay things in this forbidding land, had been taken from them. Gorton knew that if his responsibility for her fate became known, the mob would tear him to pieces. Fortunately, there was little chance of that happening. He had acted with an abundance of caution, making sure that his involvement was shielded at every level. Even in the unlikely event that the cause of the queen’s death was discovered - something almost impossible once the body had been cremated - he had lain false trails leading to scapegoats. If “innocents” died to protect him, he wouldn’t pretend to grieve. To do so would be hypocritical.
The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia Page 14