The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2)

by Berardinelli, James

  “Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Your Majesty.” Farber’s eyes were downcast; he didn’t meet the king’s gaze. That followed an antiquated etiquette practiced by few today. Once, to make eye contact with a king was to court death.

  “My chancellor assures me you bring words of importance.”

  “I come to you because my conscience dictates this to be the right choice. I’ve wrestled with it for many nights now, weighing my duty to Prelate Ferguson and the Temple to my duty to Your Majesty and Vantok. Only after many hours of contemplation did I arrive at this decision.”

  Azarak said nothing, knowing Farber would make his point in his own time. Clearly, he viewed what he was about to say as a betrayal of Ferguson and Azarak didn’t want to speak unwise words that might make him reconsider. If he was about to break a sworn oath to the prelate, his future in the Temple would be in jeopardy. Ferguson had excommunicated men for less.

  “I believe Prelate Ferguson isn’t being entirely open and honest with Your Majesty.”

  That wasn’t a revelation to Azarak, who had long known Ferguson to be the keeper of a vast store of secrets that he dispensed as he saw fit.

  “The Prelate has known the location of The Wizard’s Bride for several weeks. His agents located her at a rest stop along the northern road some time ago. He ordered that her progress be tracked but her journey shouldn’t be impeded and no attempt should be made to retrieve her. Those of us who learned this information were told that under no circumstances was it to be revealed to Your Majesty.”

  Only Azarak’s schooling at maintaining a calm façade prevented his face from expressing the shock he felt. This wasn’t a minor infraction; it was treason. If Farber wasn’t mistaken, Ferguson had overstepped his boundaries by more than a little. By hiding Alicia’s location, he had acted criminally.

  “There’s more, Your Majesty. Prelate Ferguson is aware that you independently deployed resources to locate The Wizard’s Bride. The priesthood has been given orders to obfuscate the trail, confuse any pursuit, sow disinformation, and do whatever is necessary to ensure you’re unable to locate and re-capture the Lady Alicia.”

  As stunned as Azarak was by these revelations, his mind screamed one question: Why?? What possible reason could Ferguson have for keeping Alicia from being brought back safely to Vantok? Even as a power play, it made no sense. If Sorial returned and Alicia wasn’t here to greet him...

  “Have you noticed whether His Eminence has been acting erratically lately?” asked Toranim, voicing a concern he and Azarak had discussed from time-to-time. Ferguson was ninety-five years of age and it was rare for a man to reach that advanced state of life with his full intellectual prowess intact. This might be an indication of a decline in Ferguson’s mental faculties. It was hard to imagine a worse time for something of that nature to be happening.

  “There are causes for concern. But this is the first time any of my brothers or I have seen him stand in open defiance of Your Majesty. We are sworn servants of the Temple but, considering what happened with the gods, many of us now consider our secular responsibilities more important than our religious ones. We serve two masters: Prelate Ferguson and Your Majesty. Neither is a god but, to be blunt, you outrank him. Many of my fellows don’t share this opinion. In fact, I am one of only three who believes Prelate Ferguson to be in the wrong.”

  The conversation continued but little additional information was forthcoming. Before dismissing Farber, Azarak wanted to ensure that the man’s loyalty wasn’t transient.

  “Can I rely on you to bring information of a similar nature to me going forward?”

  The priest nodded. “For as long as I am privy to it, Your Majesty. Should the prelate suspect that my loyalty is no longer unconditional, he may remove me from his circle. His Eminence has shown signs of paranoia in recent weeks; holding his trust is becoming an uncertain thing.”

  “For as long as you’re close to him, I rely on you to be my eyes and ears in the temple. Can you do that?”

  “I can, Your Majesty.”

  “Then go with my gratitude. And know that should you require support from the Crown, you’ll have it, even if it requires me to face down Prelate Ferguson. As you so rightly pointed out, I outrank him. Perhaps not once but certainly now. You’re dismissed to return to your duties. Chancellor Toranim will show you a concealed exit route.”

  After Toranim and Farber departed, Azarak sat in silence, brooding over this latest development. To this point, the depth of the prelate’s insubordination had been concealing secrets; acting to interfere with a mission of this importance couldn’t be tolerated. Yet the problem of how to address it remained. Raising it in conversation would do no good; Ferguson would deny the allegation and reaffirm his commitment to serving the king and the city. Charging him with treason or some lesser crime would serve no purpose beyond driving a wedge between the Crown and the Temple. Ecclesiastical privilege would assure that Ferguson never stood trial. The only remaining option was to remove him from power. But how?

  Azarak knew the answer although he didn’t like. Ferguson would never give up his position as long as he lived. The king had used assassins before, albeit on rare occasions and as a last resort. Never had he sought to eliminate a target this important. But the matter of Ferguson’s ouster couldn’t be set aside and allowed to stew. Azarak had done that for too long and the brew had turned noxious. Action in this matter was no longer a luxury.

  CHAPTER TWO: PLIGHT OF THE HUNTED

  Alicia was frightened - more frightened than at any time in her nearly sixteen years. People were trying to kill her. It was a hard fact to absorb for one who had lived a secure existence buffered from the harsh realities of life by the sturdy walls of her father’s ducal mansion and a well-trained force of guards. But now, in the wilds south of the mountain range called The Broken Crags, she was getting a lesson in how fragile and uncertain life could be. She could die out here and no one might ever know. Her whereabouts would be a mystery pondered by those left behind.

  Alicia was as pretty as she was fragile, although three weeks on the road had toughened her considerably. She had altered her appearance to make her less immediately recognizable, using an inky dye to color her golden locks then chopping more than a foot off so the ends reached just below her cheekbones. She wore simple peasant dresses purchased from a village dressmaker several hundred miles south. Her complexion had darkened and her face was often smeared with dirt. She was afraid to catch a glimpse of herself in a looking glass - not that such a thing would be found in the places where she spent her days and nights - out of a concern she wouldn’t recognize herself. One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was her eyes. They were as green and penetrating as ever. She took comfort from the thought that, although Sorial might not recognize her hair or skin, he would know her eyes.

  Tonight, for the first night in the last four, they were under a roof. To call it “inside” was an exaggeration, just as calling the building an “inn” gave it undeserved airs. The room she shared with her three companions - her bodyguard, Vagrum; Sorial’s best friend, Rexall; and Sorial’s mother, Kara - was a converted attic with holes in the walls and roof that assured it was just as cold within as without. But at least they were protected from the biting wind that never seemed to abate. A fire would have been nice, but this wasn’t the sort of establishment with fireplaces in its few guest rooms. Unless they wished to pass the night in the common room, warmth came only from the threadbare horse blankets provided by the innkeeper.

  The thing that made Alicia shiver as she lay in the darkness trying to calm her overactive mind wasn’t the cold but the realization that, but for Vagrum’s prowess in combat and a stroke of good luck, she would be dead. By all rights, she should be dead. Two attempts on her life had failed. Her concern was that the third, when it came - and she was sure it would come - wouldn’t miss its mark. She didn’t know whether those who wanted her dead were inherited enemies of Sorial’s or whether her status as Th
e Wizard’s Bride had earned her adversaries of her own. When planning her escape from Vantok, she had been consumed with the idea of finding Sorial and saving him from the folly of subjecting himself to the portal. She hadn’t given due consideration to any personal jeopardy.

  The first attempt on her life had come two weeks ago, a day’s travel north of the junction with the western bound road that led directly to the city of Basingham. Although the ambush had been poorly devised, it had nearly accomplished its goal. Vagrum had taken two arrows meant for Alicia, both of which had been poisoned. Some quasi-mystical training to build up tolerance to common toxins had allowed him to survive a dose that would have killed Alicia. Still, he hadn’t escaped without repercussions. Since the attack, he had been prone to dizzy spells and his stamina was greatly reduced. Any sort of exertion, even one of a brief and mild nature, left him breathless. He dismissed Alicia’s concerns about his condition, saying he would eventually be back to normal, but she had seen no improvement in the two weeks since. Had they not been traveling on horseback, it would have been necessary to leave him behind. She knew that in a fight, Vagrum’s usefulness would be limited; she was relying on his intimidating appearance to lessen the chances of anyone attacking.

  The second close call had come a week later at a crowded tavern south of the intersection with the east road to Earlford. Alicia’s group had been in the common room enjoying the warmth from a roaring fire when a miner had burst through the front door shouting that he had found gold and was rich. He had ordered a free round for everyone in the house. Alicia, who didn’t drink spirits, had given hers to a reveler who dropped dead after downing half the tankard. Poison had been suspected and the miner had vanished without a trace. No one had been able to figure out why anyone would want to kill Wilbur, a likeable trapper who lived in a small hut a quarter mile up the road and didn’t have an enemy in the world.

  After that, Alicia had adopted a lower profile and a new personality. No longer was she a minor noble traveling north to meet her groom. Now, she was one of a group of poor citizens making a pilgrimage to the city of Syre, the homeland of their eldest. Alicia had done what she could to change her appearance and nights spent indoors became luxuries, not necessities. She acted like a woman with little coin which, despite her lofty title and birthright, reflected her circumstances. Nobility didn’t necessarily equate to wealth.

  She would never forget her first night spent out-of-doors. Unlike the romantic poems she had read as a child, it had been horrific and uncomfortable. Vagrum and Rexall had shared watch duties, meaning each got only four hours’ sleep, but Alicia’s portion had been less in both quality and quantity. Even under layers of blankets, she had been cold and damp with the chilliness and moisture seeping through the burlap covering placed beneath her on the ground. Although the spot she had chosen was swept free of snow, the cold had gotten into her bones. She had tossed and turned, unable to achieve even a modicum of comfort. It had snowed fitfully, just heavy enough to be a nuisance. Occasional flurries kissing the exposed skin of her face had conspired with the other conditions to keep slumber at bay until absolute exhaustion had overtaken her. When she had awakened after finally dozing for three restless hours, she had been sore and more tired than when she had lain down. Both Kara and Vagrum had accorded her sympathetic looks. Rexall, never given to treating Alicia with anything approaching kindness, had displayed an expression wavering between smugness and sadism.

  The second and third nights had been easier although on neither occasion had Alicia gotten more than four hours’ interrupted sleep. As they had ridden north that day with Alicia barely conscious in the saddle, Vagrum had assured her that, in time, she would get used to it. “There comes a time when you get more comfortable lying on dirt and rocks than a mattress. Once, I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep ’less it was on a hard piece of ground. When I first came to work for your father, I got my winks on the stable floor. That was more familiar than a barracks bed.” Alicia had tried her best not to look horrified when he confided that. She then remembered that when she had first met Sorial, his ‘bed’ had been in the stable at The Wayfarer’s Comfort.

  The most depressing consideration was that everything they were doing might be for naught. The point of their journey was to save Sorial - to reach him before he touched the portal and stop him from throwing away his life on a fool’s dream. But it was possible they were going to the wrong portal. When they had left Vantok, they had believed there to be only one remaining but a careful consideration of the evidence had given root to doubt. What if there was a second functioning portal and Sorial was bound for that one? The thought gnawed at Alicia; the more she dwelt on it, the more uncertain she was that there was meaning in this trek. But what could she do? Admit defeat and return to Vantok? And if she got there in time to hear that he had died at the portal in the North, she knew she’d never be able to live with her decision. As long as there was a chance, she had no choice but to continue even if it meant that her life ultimately might be forfeit. There were some things worth dying for.

  Eventually, exhaustion overcame Alicia’s aversion to sleep and she succumbed to its embrace. Her slumber was deep and she remained unvisited by nightmares, but when she awoke, she didn’t feel rested. The lumpy straw mattress not only smelled of mildew but was little more comfortable than the ground. Today would be another difficult day on horseback with every step her mount took jolting her bruised body. She was having a hard time reconciling the realities of travel with the glamour of the road commonplace in all the epic stories and legends.

  Vagrum clomped up the stairs, returning to the cramped room after having made an early morning assessment of the day’s weather. Alicia looked at the big man. He was a little pale but, other than that, there was no outward evidence of his lingering debilitation. With thickly muscled arms and tree-trunk legs, he looked ready to stride into battle. His face, a maze of crisscrossed scars that included a misshapen nose and an ear missing both lobe and tip, was evidence of a life spent fighting. His normally bald head showed thick salt-and-pepper stubble; he had stopped shaving crown, chin, and upper lip following the poisoning. Alicia knew he was frustrated about his infirmity but there was nothing any of them could do for him and, to his credit, he hadn’t slowed them down. The poor road conditions and unseasonably bad weather had accomplished that. They were days behind schedule. By now, they should have been in the mountains but the peaks still loomed ahead, appearing closer than they were. Alicia had learned that mountains could be seen from a long distance away. A very long distance.

  “Looks to be clear, Milady.” Vagrum’s assessment promised the welcome hope of a rain-free, snow-free ride and the associated potential of making real progress.

  “If the weather holds, how long to the pass?” asked the wiry, red-haired Rexall, who was in the process of tightening the ropes around his bedroll. Because the two small beds in the room had been given to Alicia and Kara, he and Vagrum had slept on the floor. Alicia suspected he might have enjoyed a more comfortable night.

  “Hard to say.” Vagrum had been in these parts before but it had been many years. “If we make good time, we’ll get there tomorrow night but we won’t want to start in ’til mid-morning the day after. If it’s open. If the weather up there was as bad as what we went through, we may be stuck. Only a fool would attempt them narrow, twisty paths with snow and ice on the ground.”

  If that was the case, was Sorial also stuck? If he had gone this way, was he ahead or behind?

  “Two days sounds right,” said Kara, whose familiarity with the area was superior to Vagrum’s. It was unusual for her to speak to the entire group. During the journey, she had mostly kept to herself, although she occasionally engaged Alicia in conversation. At more than five decades of life, Kara was the senior member of the group. She remained a striking woman - slim, short in stature, and with long, flowing ebony hair that spilled over her shoulders. Despite her age, it showed only hints of gray. Constant exposure to the
sun had darkened her skin to a deep umber, a characteristic that complemented her warm, dusky eyes. One look at her delicate features made it apparent that she was a native of the northern city of Syre, the northeastern-most major human settlement on the continent. But Kara didn’t advertise her heritage, preferring to keep her face hidden under an oversized cowl when outside.

  “There’s a large inn near the mouth of the pass. Unlike some of the places we’ve passed recently, this is a major stopping point for travelers entering and exiting the mountains. It’s a good place to spend a night but, more importantly, we’ll be able to find out whether the pass is open and, if it is, what the conditions are like. Also, if Sorial went this way, it’s likely Warburm would have stopped there. Someone might remember his party.”

  Vagrum nodded. “I remember the place. Goes by the name of The Gateway Inn. Last time I was there, they sold sure-footed mules for weary travelers who didn’t want to walk all the way through.”

  They departed the inn shortly thereafter, retrieved their horses from what passed for a stable, and returned to the road - a wide, muddy trail running north-south. In the clear, cool morning air, the mountains towered above to the left, no longer mere splotches on a distant horizon. The road, which had been gently climbing for days, ascended more steeply here in the lower foothills.

  The morning passed as many recent mornings had passed, with the four of them riding in silence, two-by-two. Rexall and Vagrum were in front with Kara and Alicia following. Shortly after they re-mounted following a break, Kara started a conversation. Alicia was glad for the distraction; it took her away from morose thoughts.