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

by Berardinelli, James

  Azarak looked to Sorial who, in turn, looked to Alicia. In matters such as these, he was willing to submit to her decision. He was more concerned about what the “demonstration” would entail than how the timetable would unfold. He had known some sort of grand public gesture would be required of him, but he hadn’t yet arrived at a suitable option. When it came to pure spectacle, earth wasn’t a strong element. He couldn’t conjure balls of fire or create whirlwinds or cause water to dance. He needed something else and, although it would have to convince and impress, it couldn’t harm anyone. An earthquake, for example, wasn’t a possibility. Whatever he did, it couldn’t cause injury or damage. A little fear, on the other hand, might not be the worst thing...

  Alicia sighed. “It will have to be. Bad timing, I suppose. I guess I’ll surrender my dreams of a lavish wedding. I’m marrying a stableboy, after all. My mother will be crushed.”

  For Sorial, a private wedding was preferable to a public one. The marriage was important to him, but not necessarily the ceremony that ratified it. At this point, it was a formality, although he was reasonably certain that’s not how Alicia saw it. Women, he knew, put more importance on the wedding than men, who were typically more interested in the after-ceremony party, where the beer ran freely.

  “Who will officiate?” asked Alicia. Normally, it would have been the prelate but, considering Ferguson’s status, that was unlikely and inadvisable.

  “If it meets with your approval, I’d be honored,” offered Azarak. “I’d also like to make a reciprocal request. In the event that Ferguson’s replacement hasn’t been named by the date of the royal wedding - a probability considering how long the process will take - I ask that you, as the man of the second highest rank in Vantok, preside. Although I’m sure King Rangarak would be more than happy to do the duty, I’d prefer that the ceremony be officiated by someone from Vantok, not Obis. It’s a matter of principle.”

  Myselene inclined her head in agreement. “Sorial is an excellent choice. It shouldn’t be my father. There are already concerns in some quarters of society about my elevation to queen amounting to a passive takeover by Obis. No need to exacerbate matters by having my father perform the ceremony, regardless of his qualifications. Giving the duty to Sorial would show that we’re invested in the future and acknowledge the importance of the wizard in Vantok’s hierarchy.”

  “Very well.” Sorial had no idea how to perform a wedding. He had never even attended one. He supposed he would imitate whatever Azarak did. “Hopefully, we won’t mix up the brides.” That was intended as a joke. Myselene smiled as did the king. Alicia, however, gave Sorial the kind of stare that reminded him she didn’t always appreciate his humor.

  “One last thing before we adjourn,” said Carannan. “Your Majesty, we previously discussed living arrangements for my daughter and His Magus. Have you considered my proposal?”

  “I have, and I find it suitable. Of course, it’s up to Sorial and Lady Alicia to make the final determination. If they’d prefer a mansion in the nobles’ quarter, I can arrange that.”

  “The alternative?” asked Sorial.

  “Duke Carannan has offered to vacate his current home and move somewhere closer to the palace. You could take up residence in the house where Lady Alicia grew up. In addition, the deed to the farm where your mother and Lamanar lived since arriving in Vantok has been purchased by the Crown. This will be turned over to you to do with as you see fit. You can sell the land, lease it to a farmer, or use it yourself. There are no restrictions, but a man of your rank should own property.”

  “Father, are you sure?” asked Alicia.

  “For me, it was always just a house and a move closer to the city’s center is a welcome change for your mother and I. For you, it was a home, and it broke my heart to turn you out a year ago. Come back and reclaim it with my blessing.”

  Alicia rose from her seat to give her father a hug.

  Azarak addressed Sorial. “Until Duke Carannan has had time to relocate, you and Lady Alicia will be provided with rooms in the palace - separate until your wedding and joint thereafter. Now, since it’s time for lunch, perhaps we should take a break. We can meet this afternoon to discuss the text of the proclamation and the logistics of the demonstration.”

  * * *

  Word of the extraordinary announcement from the palace spread like wildfire through Vantok. Less than an hour after a crier first read the proclamation, it dominated every conversation across the city from the sitting parlors of nobles to the taprooms of commoners. The news was greeted with suspicion and skepticism by some, hope by others, and enthusiasm by those who believed the gods had never given up on their creations. After a 900 year absence, The Wizard of Vantok had returned…or so the king would have his subjects believe.

  Ariel understood what this meant. Sorial, who had proven frustratingly elusive to track, was now within her grasp. Was he so foolish as to believe he could emerge into public like this and escape her notice? Admittedly, it was fortuitous that she had been in Vantok preparing for the mission involving King Rangarak when the announcement was made but, even if she had been in the frozen North, she would have heard it whispered on the wind. Caution had kept Sorial alive to this point; boldness would be his undoing.

  It meant a chance at redemption, something she had craved since Sorial stepped through the portal. It had been foolish to believe she could thwart Ferguson by appealing to her brother and her sentimentality had damaged Justin’s carefully formulated plans. But fate had now provided her with an opportunity to correct her error.

  Killing Sorial could serve two purposes. If done dramatically, it would deal a tremendous blow to the city’s collective psyche. There was nothing more devastating than to provide hope then snatch it away. It would also give Justin the opportunity to put a candidate into that position. Although it was unclear whether there was a Lord of Water out there, a single outlier would provide little challenge to a cabal comprised of Air, Earth, and Fire. Water was particularly vulnerable to Earth, as Fire was to Water, so it was crucial to gain control of one of those two elements.

  Justin was expecting Ariel to contact him when she divined Sorial’s location. Time was short, however. The announcement indicated he would provide a public demonstration on the morrow at noon from atop the palace gates. Even as fast as she could fly, it was unlikely she could travel to Justin’s location deep within the eastern Forbidden Lands, impart the news, and return with him in time. This was something she would have to accomplish on her own.

  Some of the groundwork was already in place. For the past two weeks, she had been fostering the nascent rebellion against Azarak, doing everything she could while wearing a variety of illusory disguises to undermine his support. The majority of the citizenry stubbornly clung to an unreasonable affection for the king, but there were cracks in the masonry, especially among those unwillingly conscripted into the militia. Erosion within the army was important. When it came to fighting, morale would be a key element if the numbers were similar on both sides. Ariel felt confident that Justin would win the day especially with two or three wizards bolstering his forces but a slim victory was as good as a loss. He needed to have a strong army in place so he could sweep across the South and into the North. The Battle of Vantok would be crucial to his gaining a foothold on the continent, but it was only the beginning of the campaign. His goal was six conquests, not one.

  Eventually, Justin intended to build a new city to be his capitol. He had promised Ariel her choice of the established ones. She was undecided between Obis and Syre. She had grown up in the North and wanted her base of power to be there. Obis was the strongest city on the entire continent; however, her mother was a Syrene.

  She wondered where Kara was. The shack she had shared with Lamanar was empty and had been for at least a season. With Sorial confirmed as a wizard, had she left? When given an opportunity, Ariel would have to visit Sussaman in disguise and learn what she could there. Perhaps Kara, hearing of Lamanar’s death, h
ad elected to retire to the place where she had spent a majority of her life. At some point, Ariel intended to reveal herself to her mother. First, however, the war had to be won. As Ferguson’s disciple, Kara would be duty-bound to oppose Ariel until there was no longer a reason to do so.

  For now, it was her brother who concerned her. Little additional planning was necessary - there was a simple way to kill Sorial while keeping her involvement transparent. Even in the unlikely event that it failed, it wouldn’t be traceable to her. The time had come for her to correct her earlier folly and regain an equal footing with Justin.

  * * *

  Sorial was apprehensive. Despite having considered at some length what could constitute a suitable demonstration of his credentials, he had never thought in detail about the practical aspects of what would be required of him: standing on the walkway atop the palace gates and facing the thousands of citizens who had gathered out of hope, hostility, or curiosity. Sorial had never seen a sea of humanity like this. They filled the wide plaza outside the gates and spilled into the nearby streets. They clogged the rooftops of neighboring houses. Everywhere he looked, there were citizens of Vantok: old, young, male, female, rich, poor. He knew none by name yet he recognized a few faces from his years working at The Wayfarer’s Comfort. After all, he had grown up with them living and working all around him. Now, by a quirk of fate, he was elevated above them, and they had come to see their supposed savior prove his mettle. They radiated anticipation.

  His hand was clammy as it grasped Alicia’s. She, who was far more accustomed to public appearances, was his lifeline, all smiles and waves. Dressed like a princess in a peach chiffon dress, she looked every bit the part she was playing: The Wizard’s Bride. Azarak and Myselene were present as well. Both were at ease and in their element. The four most powerful people in Vantok, gathered to face the men and women they served.

  The throng continued to cheer, as it had done for the better part of five minutes since the couples ascended the narrow flight of stairs leading to the spot where, on rare occasions, the king of Vantok would address his city. Of course, it wasn’t all pomp. Hidden beneath the general mood of jubilation was a sour undercurrent. The recalcitrant nobles who had withdrawn their support from Azarak were unenthused about this turn of events. With this in mind, archers were positioned at intervals along the wall, kneeling behind the parapet. They were elite bowmen familiar with providing security for important personages. They constantly scanned the crowd below and those gathered on nearby rooftops for signs of danger.

  Noting Sorial’s clenched jaw and pallid complexion, Azarak leaned over and whispered a few words of encouragement. “Relax. Don’t worry about anything. The hardest part of these things is speaking, and that’s my responsibility. Let me introduce you then do your thing. Once they see you’re legitimate, nine out of ten will love you. Now smile and wave, and when you start don’t be afraid of being a little theatrical.”

  Sorial couldn’t help wonder about that one in ten who wouldn’t love him, but it was something he couldn’t control. Alicia squeezed his hand reassuringly. He looked at her, appearing lovelier than she had since her Maturity a year ago. Her hair was styled in a manner more appropriate to its current length but its original color and luster had returned. She beamed happily at him. This was the first time circumstances had allowed them to appear together, acknowledged by all as a soon-to-be-married couple. No worries about the disparity in their social status or the unlikelihood of their romance. It was a validation of all they had endured. He wondered what the familiar faces were thinking - the men in Carannan’s militia, Warburm and his employees, the merchants who were regular visitors to The Wayfarer’s Comfort. Was Ferguson watching? Sorial hadn’t thought to ask the king about that. There would be a perverse irony in keeping the maestro of events from seeing the climactic movement of his opus.

  Azarak motioned for silence and, like a wave rolling away from the palace, quiet descended - or at least as much quiet as a crowd of several thousand could manage. The deafening cacophony diminished to a low roar like constant, distant thunder.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of Vantok, faithful citizens all, I welcome you on this most auspicious of occasions...”

  * * *

  Her face wreathed in illusion, Ariel watched with everyone else. No one glancing in her direction would detect anything odd unless they stared at her face and, in a crowd like this, that wouldn’t happen. She wore the guise of a disfigured crone that caused people to look away. As eyes were drawn to beauty so they were repulsed by ugliness. That would be her defense against the chance that someone might gaze long enough to discern there was something insubstantial about her features.

  She had detected the archers. They would have proven an obstacle only if she hadn’t expected them. They couldn’t prevent what they couldn’t see and air could be woven to hide things and people as effectively as it disguised her appearance.

  Her brother looked nervous and she could hardly blame him. Accepting the responsibility of being the first publically recognized wizard in nine hundred years wasn’t something she would have wanted. She was surprised at the pang she felt when she saw him, a mixture of sadness and regret. She did her best to bury it and steel herself to do what needed to be done but it had been easier to imagine killing Sorial in the abstract than now, when it was imminent and she was looking at him. Regrets were pointless, Justin would decree, and she had a task to perform. She couldn’t reverse time or undo things that had been done. Brother or not, she would do her duty. She would spill his blood here in the hope that his death would shorten the war and ultimately save the lives of countless others in Vantok and across the continent.

  King Azarak continued to drone on, saying all the expected things about how Vantok had been blessed by the gods, etc. She was unsurprised that he failed to acknowledge the truth about humanity’s creators. For the Temple to retain its grip of power, the fiction of the gods would have to be maintained. In the North, where the populace was more pragmatic and less prone to superstition, acceptance was building, but not in the South, and especially not in Vantok, seat of the most powerful of all the prelates. That was one of many things Justin would change once he came into power. In this new age, men would learn to rely on, although not pray to, the wizards. They weren’t gods but they were the closest thing to it in a world left adrift on its own.

  Sorial stepped forward to thunderous applause. Ariel readied herself although the time wasn’t quite right. Sorial’s death would have its greatest impact if it occurred after he had proven himself. Besides, she was curious to see what feat he would attempt to confirm to thousands that he was no charlatan - precisely the claim her “allies” within the nobility were pressing. They were skeptics not because they disbelieved the possibility of humanity regaining magic, but because having a “pet wizard” would make the king unassailable. Ariel didn’t much care about Vantok’s internal politics and, in the grand scheme of things, they would be irrelevant. The nobility in particular would be swept away with Justin’s arrival. But, at least for now, the city’s internal strife served her purpose and she would use it.

  * * *

  Sorial did his best to block out the sight of so many faces. They gazed at him from as close as fifteen feet and as far as a half-mile down the boulevard that ran from the palace to Vantok’s southern outskirts. Their attention was rapt with some waiting to see him fail and others hoping for his success. He could feel Alicia’s warm, comforting presence to one side and Azarak’s reassuring one to the other. Bolstered by them, he went to work. He lifted his arms above his head in an example of the “theatricality” Azarak had suggested. He wore thick black gloves to conceal the absence of his left hand. After a long pause, he lowered his arms before stomping hard on the ground with one foot. It was all unnecessary but the audience was expecting something more than was strictly necessary to perform the magic he had in mind.

  He had considered many options before settling on this one. It was a frivolou
s use of his abilities but would achieve the desired end of making an impression without causing injury or permanent damage. Tons upon tons of dirt, clay, and rock would need to be shifted and, even though earth was like air to one such as him, the sheer volume would create a strain. Even with the rock wyrm’s aid, it would be a monumental endeavor; he hoped his stamina would hold out.

  It began unremarkably with what appeared to be a sinkhole just outside the northeastern city limits. Sorial had chosen the direction because it gave those on the ground the least obstructed view. In the early stages, the changes would be imperceptible to anyone at a distance. Sorial’s eyes didn’t tell him what was transpiring but his mind did. Earth, after initially compacting, began to expand upward, aided by Sorial’s talent and the efforts of the rock wyrm, which was working to rearrange rock and dirt far beneath the surface. It swam in spiral patterns beneath the area Sorial was manipulating, loosening smaller deposits and shattering large ridges of stone, making everything easier for Sorial to mold and shape. After several anticlimactic moments, a distant rumble began. Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, a wide column of earth rose from the previously flat surface. The skeleton was rock; the skin was dirt and clay.

  As it reached skyward, the “ooh”s and “ah”s began. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet it climbed, towering above the tallest structure in the city by threefold, until the height exceeded the diameter of the roughly circular base. Four hundred, five hundred, six hundred feet. Sorial was beginning to feel sluggish and fatigued, like after a long, full day mucking stalls, except it wasn’t only his arms that were leaden but his entire being. He shifted more of the burden to the rock wyrm, which moved with alacrity gathering material and forcing it upward, where Sorial claimed it and molded it. Seven hundred, eight hundred, nine hundred feet. Sorial’s breath was becoming labored, as if he had run a long, hard race. The point of collapse wasn’t far; he had reached the limits of his endurance. It was time to end the demonstration. When the cone-shaped column, which tapered from three hundred feet across at the base to a mere forty at its apex, had reached one thousand feet, Sorial stopped its growth. The result was pure spectacle: to prove himself, The Lord of Earth had built a small mountain. Mount Vantok.