Myselene envisioned the situation with a clarity that had previously escaped her. She was reminded why it was so important to befriend servants. They saw things differently and, in their perspective could often be discovered truths that escaped rulers and nobles.
In this case, everyone with privileged knowledge of the situation accepted some basic tenets: the gods were dead, magic had returned to the world, a rogue wizard was preparing to attack Vantok using magic as his first salvo, and the role of priests had been reduced to that of comforters.
But this wasn’t the reality for the majority of Vantok’s citizenry. They hadn’t been told the truth. Ferguson had never made a statement declaring the age of the gods to be past. The Temple hadn’t moved to quell rumors that the heat wave and drought were signs of the gods’ disapproval. Consequently, the peasants were living a lie and Ferguson was complicit. In him, the people saw not only their spiritual leader but perhaps the only one who could guide them out of the current situation. Mentions of magic would be met with scorn. Everyone knew wizards were things of long-ago myths and stories. Who would believe in them today? Certainly no one with a rational mind.
The peasants represented the backbone of Azarak’s strength. As long as they supported him, his grip on the throne was secure. In a masterstroke, Ferguson had found a way to subvert Azarak’s political base without forcing a confrontation. Their loyalty remained as it had always been: to Azarak on secular matters and to Ferguson on spiritual ones. If the two came into conflict, however, the majority would stand with the prelate. And that would spell doom for the current regime. Did Ferguson think to be king? Or would he be content to work behind-the-scenes with a puppet on the throne?
Myselene wished it was possible to send an assassin into the temple, but Azarak had told her Ferguson’s security was too elaborate. He was untouchable, at least physically. But was there another way? Could he at least be discredited?
* * *
Late that night, Myselene reclined naked in Azarak’s bed, waiting for the king to finish his business of the day and join her. She wasn’t quite asleep when he arrived an hour past midnight. As was his custom, he doffed his outer clothing, rang for a goblet of spirits, and collapsed into a chair. Brushing away strands of the slumber seeking to embrace her, Myselene sat up, the bed sheets demurely caressing her form. She noted there was a slight chill in the air, the first she had felt since coming to Vantok.
The darkness of the king’s expression bespoke more bad news. Noticing her gaze, he related what Toranim told him within the hour. “A group of influential nobles have sent a written notification that they’re withdrawing official support for the Crown. According to their declaration, they no longer believe my reign represents their interests. Until such time as their ‘concerns are addressed,’ they’re refusing to pay taxes, pulling men employed in their personal militias from service in Vantok’s army, and intending to handle their own distribution of food and grain. In addition, before any man in their service is permitted to stand trial, they claim first right to determine the validity of any charges. If they find him unjustly accused, he is not to be subject to the Crown’s judgment.”
“How many?”
“Six large families and a handful of smaller ones. Not enough to cripple the military or the food supply but enough to create a bloodbath if I move against them with the army. They know the numbers and the situation and made sure they had sufficient support to avoid intervention before making the announcement. It will be posted tomorrow, so the entire city will be aware of it by mid-morning.”
“Is this Ferguson’s doing? Another attempt to undermine your authority?”
“I don’t think so. As clever as our esteemed prelate is, he’s not behind all the city’s myriad problems. The heat and drought are the real problems, and the fact that I was unwilling to let the nobles set their own prices for grain.”
“You can’t let this stand.”
“I don’t intend to. The alternative to direct military action is to blockade the estates of those who signed the declaration. No one in, no one out. No supplies in. They’re well-provisioned and some have access to private water sources. If it’s a waiting game, it could last for a very long time. But I think our enemy to the south will have a say in that. Nothing is better at uniting a fractured population than an outside threat.”
“So your policies are based on the assumption that we’re going to be attacked?” To Myselene, that was an unsound basis for quelling a potential rebellion.
“I suppose they are, but it’s foolish not to consider that when making domestic policy. There’s no need to come down hard on the nobles, which could result in them burning their grain stores in retaliation, when we can pen them in and wait them out. And if an attack doesn’t come this year, weather may force the city to empty. Basingham has been absorbing a steady trickle of refugees for two years and, if the heat gets worse this Summer, that trickle will swell to a stream. Vantok is dangerously close to no longer being viable as a place of mass human habitation, at least in the near-term. So the rebellious inclinations of a group of nobles are of less consequence than they would be in prosperous times.”
Myselene considered. There was sense in what the king proposed. It was an unorthodox strategy, and one her father, who believed diplomacy was useful only after the enemy had been crushed, would reject. A policy of containment allowed Azarak to see how things developed with the weather, with Sorial, and with the situation to the south. If he forced a confrontation, it would be citizens fighting citizens and the result could tear Vantok apart from within. She wondered, though, how things had gotten so bad so fast. And that’s where it came back to Ferguson. The nobles didn’t see the dangers for what they were. As far as they were concerned, the heat was a temporary inconvenience; they had no inkling that magic had returned or that there was an enemy force building to the south. To them, this was all about the profits Azarak was denying them by decreeing that the maximum price for grain be affordable to all, not just wealthy merchants.
“The people have to be told the whole truth,” she said at last. “This can’t go on. By keeping the citizens in ignorance, the prelate is endangering the future of this city.”
“Toranim said much the same thing to me not thirty minutes ago, and I agree with you both. I can wait out the nobles, but I can’t wait out Ferguson, especially now that we know Sorial’s return is imminent. I need Lady Alicia back in the city or at least in safe hands before he arrives. The arrest warrant I signed for Ferguson lacks teeth and he has understandably refused my ‘invitation’ to discuss our differences anywhere outside the temple. So I have to resort to something… unorthodox.”
Myselene hid the beginnings of a smile. A penchant for bold, decisive action was Azarak’s most attractive quality. For her, if power was an aphrodisiac, the way the king employed it made it more of one. He didn’t flaunt it the way some rulers did. He didn’t gird himself with it as was her father’s wont. But he was unafraid to bring it to bear when circumstances warranted it.
“I’m going to make a speech during an upcoming public audience. In that speech, I’ll reveal what Ferguson has kept hidden - that the gods have departed and we’ve been left to our own devices. I’ll speak of wizards - both the one we hope to woo and the one whose powers are responsible for the heat and the drought. And I’ll conclude by affirming that the Temple is now to be considered beholden to the Crown. Since there are no gods, the priests no longer toil under a divine mandate, and any priest who doesn’t acknowledge the absolute authority of the Crown will be subject to arrest for treason.”
Myselene nodded. It was daring. If it worked, Azarak would win his battle with Ferguson quickly and decisively, and might even score a pre-emptive strike against the nobles. But there were dangers. How would the populace react to this news? They had heard rumors about “the death of the gods” for years but it was something altogether different to confront the unthinkable as a truth rather than idle gossip. Worse still was the possi
bility that Azarak wouldn’t be believed and Ferguson might counter by denying the king’s claims. That could lead to a revolt and a coup.
“What if Ferguson publicly contradicts you?” she asked. “What if he rebuts your claim about the gods?”
“That would be lying. Thus far, Ferguson has allowed silence and ignorance to be his tools. He’s never addressed the rumors. His message has been consistent: remain steadfast in your faith. Ferguson is not beyond prevarication, but I don’t think he would tell a lie about something this important, especially since he would almost certainly be contradicted by prelates in other cities, many of whom have been more open about their concerns. Whatever Ferguson’s course of action, I don’t expect it to be that blunt. He’ll undoubtedly try something more devious.”
“When are you planning to deliver the speech?”
“It will take a few days to ready and rehearse. And I have to prepare the militia in case they’re needed to curb civil unrest. If the people believe me, there could be riots or, at the very least, some level of violence. Ironically, the nobles will need the Crown’s protection. Maybe a minor uprising will convince them that their grievances would be better addressed through negotiations than a precipitous ‘withdrawal’ from the city charter.”
They continued talking for more than an hour with their conversation touching on a variety of subjects including the wedding and Myselene’s seeming inability to become pregnant. Then, weary of words, they tried again to make Vantok’s heir. Azarak’s lovemaking was mechanical and neither was satisfied. When he rolled off her, sweating and breathing heavily, it wasn’t to fall asleep. They lay side-by-side for a while, neither dozing, until Myselene drifted off. Slumber, however, eluded Azarak. When sleep finally claimed him, the long Winter’s darkness was approaching the morning twilight.
Four hours later, he awoke with a start, immediately aware that something wasn’t quite right. Myselene still lay next to him, although the abrupt manner of his awakening disturbed her. She rolled over and mumbled something. The room was bright with morning sunlight. He had been in bed at least two hours longer than he should have been. Why hadn’t Toranim aroused him for their daily early morning briefing?
Azarak rose and used the pull-bell to summon the chancellor.
“What is it?” asked Myselene sleepily.
“Toranim didn’t wake me this morning. Something’s wrong.”
Several minutes passed uneventfully. Outside the window, Azarak could hear birds chirping. They thought it was Planting. The weather thought it was Planting. Only the calendar thought it was Winter.
Finally, impatient, Azarak donned a dressing robe and went to his chamber door. The guard on duty stood at attention when the king emerged. “Find Chancellor Toranim and ask him to join me in my rooms.”
“It’s probably nothing,” said Myselene, who had risen and donned her own robe. It wouldn’t do for the chancellor to arrive and find her naked. There were rules of propriety to be observed. “He knows you’re tired. He probably decided to let you sleep late. Last night, you said there were no public audiences today.”
“Toranim isn’t the sort of man who would ‘just let me sleep late.’ After what happened last night, he knows the importance of getting an early start today. By now, I should be caucused with my top soldiers, planning how to confine the disaffected nobles to their estates without provoking a confrontation with their personal militias. These matters can’t wait, no matter how tired a king might be.”
Azarak was a great believer in trusting his instincts and they told him that all was not well this fine Winter morning. His concern was contagious. Soon Myselene was edgy and anxious as well.
When the urgent knock came nearly a half-hour later, Azarak was quick to answer it. He was greeted not by the chancellor or the guard he had sent to fetch Toranim. Instead, there were four fully armed soldiers, including the captain of the King’s Guard.
“Your Majesty, Chancellor Toranim was attacked while walking on the palace grounds early this morning.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE PORTAL’S CALL
Alicia felt more alone than at any time since her first days trapped in her gilded temple cell. Surrounded by strangers, two of whom she once thought she knew, she was no longer in control of her destiny. Strangely, she was still headed toward her original goal, but she now understood she had been manipulated into making this journey. More than anything else, it gave her insight into what life had been like for Sorial, knowing that even the most inconsequential aspects of his childhood and adolescence had been managed by others to further a “greater good.”
She rode the same horse she had left Vantok on. The same was true of Kara. Rexall had taken Vagrum’s larger, sturdier mount. Alicia was offended by this - no one should have ridden that animal except her dead champion - but she said nothing. Technically, the horses were stolen, although perhaps her father was in on the conspiracy as well. He had been involved in the previous one. Also accompanying them were three companions from Sussaman. One was an older man with whom Kara had a longstanding acquaintanceship. The other two were younger, perhaps only a few years older than Alicia. Apparently, it took three normal men to replace Vagrum. To Alicia, of course, he was irreplaceable. She had taken it for granted that a rock of a man like Vagrum would be around forever. “Forever” had turned out to be a shockingly short period of time.
In a way, Alicia trusted the newcomers - silver-haired Aiden, blond Namanay, and dark-skinned, dark-haired Debulon - more than she did Kara and Rexall. Her growing bond with Sorial’s mother had been damaged by Kara’s revelation. As for Rexall, she had no desire to interact with him at all. She hadn’t liked him from the beginning and now she simmered with resentment for everything he represented.
They were six hours out of Sussaman, heading northeast on a path that was too narrow and uneven to be called a “road.” On a clear afternoon, there would be another two hours of sunlight, but the clouds encroaching from the northwest promised not only bad weather but an early cessation to their day’s traveling. Alicia noticed their three guides were already scanning the terrain for likely camping spots. They were more concerned with discovering a good stopping place than they were with maximizing travel distance. How unlike Vagrum’s approach.
The North was a bleak and unfriendly place, although Alicia acknowledged it might be more inviting during the warm seasons. Most of the trees were short and stubby oaks and maples; they looked skeletal without their leaves. The few conifers appeared undernourished and some were dead, their brown branches not having yet dropped all their needles. A blanket of frozen white covered everything - the result of snow that had undergone multiple thaw/freeze cycles. If the clouds were a harbinger of snow, there would be a fresh coating by morning. If Vagrum had been with them, he would be able to tell. Foretelling weather had been one of his specialties.
“You and I, we have to talk.” Rexall moved his horse alongside Alicia’s while she was busy studying the terrain ahead and engaging in bouts of self-pity.
She gave him a cold look but said nothing. Of the things that could occupy her attention on this monotonous ride, having a conversation with Rexall was low on the list.
“You might like to pretend I don’t exist but we’re stuck together for at least another few weeks, and possibly a lot longer than that, so we should at least clear the air.”
“You think that’s easily done?”
“Actually, yes, because I don’t understand why you’re angry at me. There’s nothing I’ve done you ain’t asked of me.”
“Nothing springs to mind? C’mon Rexall, I thought you were supposed to be clever.”
“You think my arrangement with Ferguson changes things?”
“You betrayed us! Not only me, but your best friend!”
“Is that how you see it?” He seemed almost amused. “You ain’t got the best grasp of reality. And I doubt Sorial will share your view when he understands everything.”
“You think Sorial will forgive your ha
ving taken money from Ferguson to help manipulate the direction of his life?”
“That’s where you’ve got it wrong. I was paid to make regular reports to one of Ferguson’s underlings. Simple things like: Is he patriotic? Does he support the king? What does he think of the rumors about the gods? Once or twice, they asked me to take him places, like swimming at a spot on your father’s property. Saying I ‘manipulated’ him is more than stretching the truth.”
“You think it’s a misrepresentation to characterize your ‘friendship’ as a sham?”
“I didn’t befriend Sorial because Ferguson asked me to. We were friends before I was approached. In fact, that’s why I was approached. They wanted information from someone who knew and understood him and they were willing to pay good coin for it. Money don’t mean much to someone like you, who can get whatever you want just by asking Daddy, but when you live in a stable and eat leftovers from a kitchen, you learn to appreciate every last stud someone offers. Would I have done something to hurt Sorial? Absolutely not. But I saw nothing wrong with telling a priest some things about how he lived his days and what he thought. And I’d wager every stud I have in my possession today that if our positions were reversed, Sorial would have done the same.”
“Maybe, but with one difference. He would have told you he was doing it. The betrayal isn’t that you met with the priest, gave him information about Sorial, and took his money. It’s that you did those things without telling your supposed friend. That makes it underhanded.”
“If you expect everyone to live up to your high standards, you’re going to live in a constant state of disappointment. Look at poor Vagrum. He did essentially the same thing I did. He had to come crawling back to you and promise to do whatever you demanded in order to earn your forgiveness. Look where that got him. If that’s your price, I’d rather not pay.”
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 13