“Grushik,” she replied icily but with sufficient cordiality that no one would find fault in her welcome. Proper etiquette didn’t require warmth. She was more animated, however, when faced with Vice Chancellor Gorton. Had they been on the ground rather than side by side on horseback, Azarak was certain she would have embraced him: her old friend and tutor, perhaps the only man in all the world she loved and trusted. Having been included in the betrothal agreement, he was soon to become a citizen of Vantok.
“It’s good to see you again, Highness. I come here as your faithful subject, ready to assume my new role and adopt a new city.” If the prospect displeased him, he didn’t show it. His smile was wide and apparently unforced.
“You’ll be a senior advisor to His Majesty and me, second only to Chancellor Toranim. Your opinions and special experience are sorely needed.”
It was a poorly kept secret that, in addition to his public duties serving Rangarak, Gorton was the head of Obis’ intelligence network. Azarak acknowledged this was one area in which Vantok needed an upgrade. Had Gorton been in place, the recent debacle with Ferguson and Alicia likely never would have happened. An effective web of spies and agents might have resulted in her recapture while still within a day’s ride of Vantok, regardless of the Temple’s efforts to keep her at liberty. But would the current situation be better or worse if that had happened? Clearly, Alicia was a wizard and, without her powers, Sorial would have died. Had Ferguson been right all along?
“I’m at Your Highness’ disposal and, once my oath of allegiance is uttered, you can expect my complete cooperation. I believe King Rangarak was less than pleased I was the highly placed official you selected.”
“I don’t know who will miss you more: my father or all the pretty, lonely ladies of Obis.”
Gorton chuckled. Despite his advancing age - he was in his early fifties - he was still a handsome man, with carefully manicured salt-and-pepper facial hair, steely gray eyes, and a swarthy complexion. He was also a notorious womanizer who was said to have bedded nearly every attractive, well-connected woman in Obis. Officially, he had no children. Unofficially, he had at least a dozen, many of whom were being passed off as the sons and daughters of nobles, guild leaders, and other dignitaries.
“Are there no pretty, lonely ladies in Vantok?”
“I think you will find the... crop... to your liking, Uncle.” Azarak agreed with Myselene’s assessment. It wouldn’t take Gorton long to make his first conquest unless he had already done so on his previous visit.
“A question, Highness, if I might?” asked Gorton.
“Of course.”
“That large... structure... to the northeast. It wasn’t here when I visited last season. It looks to be almost a mountain, although an admittedly strangely formed one. What is it? Where did it come from?”
“We’ve dubbed it Mount Vantok. It’s the creation of our wizard, Duke Sorial, who constructed it as a means of proving his legitimacy to the citizens of the city. Most impressive, wouldn’t you say, for the act of one man?”
Gorton raised an eyebrow. “So it’s true then? Rumors have reached us of magic the likes of which hasn’t been seen in centuries upon centuries. No one really believes it, of course, but the gossip is too loud and persistent to completely ignore. You’re certain of this Duke Sorial’s bona fides?”
“We’re convinced.”
Azarak could tell however, that Gorton wasn’t. His skepticism was etched on his face. The reaction was unsurprising and would be typical of anyone who hadn’t interacted with Sorial or seen his demonstration. King Rangarak would likely laugh in derision when informed that Vantok had filled the position of City Wizard.
“Place smells like shit,” said Rangarak, matching the pace of his horse to Azarak’s as they made their way slowly toward the palace, throngs of people lining the streets for the royal procession, the cheering almost deafening. The Iron King had to shout to be heard above the commotion. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Your Majesty: sanitation. What a stench! And the bugs! How’n hell do you live like this?”
Azarak sighed. The wedding was still more than a week away and the Iron King would stay at least several days after to participate in the traditional Royal Wedding Tournament, which he would likely win. It was going to be a long two weeks...
* * *
All the bowing and scraping was strange to Sorial. He was used to being on the giving end, not the receiving one. And now, his “presence was being requested to confer with the king.” It was gently worded, but a summons was a summons. So Sorial left his beloved wife behind to supervise their move into her childhood home while he ventured anonymously into the city to pay a visit to the king. His face wasn’t universally recognized. Many people had watched his demonstration, but few had been close enough to see him as more than a smudge of color atop the palace walls. Thankfully, he was known to the King’s Guard and no longer needed Duke Carannan’s help to get past the men charged with Azarak’s security.
It was a small conference, indeed. Besides Sorial and Azarak, the only others present were Myselene and Toranim. Sorial was surprised. He had expected this to be a meeting of the full council, not a select subset. It was the innermost circle. He supposed he should be honored.
“Bad news from The Forbidden Lands, I’m afraid,” began the king once they had settled around the large table. Myselene was the only one not sitting. As on the occasion when Sorial had met her, she stood slightly behind Azarak and to one side. Sorial couldn’t decide whether the position made her seem subservient or domineering. The dutiful bride-to-be or the puppet master? “But at least there’s news. One of scouts I sent into the mountains survived to report back and our concerns are warranted. There is a huge force massing in the Deep South, at least equal to the number of men Vantok can field with all the private militias and reserves in play. Six thousand, perhaps more. According to the brave lieutenant, they’re well entrenched in their camp and don’t appear to be an immediate threat to move, and when they start, it will take a force of that size at least three weeks to imperil Vantok. So we have time. But the danger is real. We have long suspected The Lord of Fire intended to follow up his weather attack with a more traditional one. Those suspicions have now been confirmed. The time has come to begin our preparations in earnest - battle plans for a war the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a thousand years. When he comes, he’ll come at us with everything he has, and we must be ready.”
“It ain’t just The Lord of Fire we have to worry about.” Sorial had everyone’s attention. “The Lord of Fire’s allied with the Air-wizard. Only those two working together could have created the weather that’s blasted Vantok over the years. Fire builds the heat and Air disperses it. Winds push away moisture-bearing clouds so the rain comes to the plains but not the city.
“The Lady of Air is my sister, Ariel. I’ve known for some time. She showed herself before I went to the portal, trying to warn me away. She said if I didn’t turn back she’d kill me. I think she’s tried. The arrow was fired by a mercenary with little training as an archer. He wouldn’t have been able to make such a long, accurate shot unless helped by the elements: a tail-wind to speed the shaft and air currents to guide its flight. That arrow was Ariel’s doing and she’ll try again. The Lord of Fire may be massing an army, but The Lady of Air is a more immediate threat. She’s acting the role of an assassin.”
There was silence for nearly a full minute before Toranim said, “According to Ferguson, all your siblings - two boys and one girl - are dead.”
“My brothers died, one of influenza and one at the Ibitsal portal. Ariel ran away before her Maturity, fearing what might happen if she tried to follow Braddock. Later, for reasons I don’t understand, she went on her own. Once she was transformed, she allied herself with The Lord of Fire, the only other wizard at the time.”
“We have to keep you safe. Put you someplace where they can’t get to you,” said Azarak.
“He controls fire and she control
s air. Outside the deep underground, few places are entirely safe from them. Awareness is our greatest defense. That’s why I’m telling you this. It’s possible I ain’t her only target. They could gain a lot by assassinating a king, for example.”
Azarak nodded. “An unexplained attack on the chancellor created paranoia and chaos. How much more so if the king was murdered? Was that your sister’s work? And the murders that followed?”
“Possibly. Sowing mistrust. Widening cracks in the social order. She’s more prone to subtlety than spectacle. But we have our own weapon. Only those of us here know Alicia’s secret. It has to remain that way for the time being.” Sorial didn’t elaborate. There was no need; the other three understood and he didn’t want to reveal anything to ears that might be listening. Within the palace, even in a supposedly secure room, one would be a fool to assume complete privacy.
From there, the discussion progressed to other matters. When Azarak questioned Sorial about moderating the weather with the onset of Planting, the wizard admitted he had no good plan except perhaps to kill one of the opposing wizards. He and Alicia had discussed possibilities at length but even the best were imperfect and would demand huge expenditures of energy. Eliminating Ariel or The Lord of Fire seemed a more achievable solution.
“One thing you’ll learn, Sorial, is that the best solution isn’t always the most obvious one. I don’t know much about magic but I know people and the only way you’re going to beat these wizards is to do something unexpected. If it’s obvious, they’ll have thought of it and will be ready to counter it.”
“Any ideas?”
The ghost of a smile touched Azarak’s lips. “I think you mentioned something neither of our adversaries would be expecting. Take the fight to them. Go on the offensive. That might be radical enough to catch them off-guard. If you can’t figure out a way to counter the heat, cut it off at the source. But make no mistakes - that must be your first priority. It’s the first and most crucial move in our battle plan because, if this heat lasts into Summer, the city will roast.”
“One way or another, I’ll get it done.”
“I expect nothing less. Now, it appears you’ll have to meet Myselene’s esteemed father. He scoffs at the possibility that there’s a real wizard alive in our time. ‘Charlatan’ is one of the kinder words he used in reference to you.”
“Another demonstration?” Sorial sighed.
“A small one. No need to build another mountain.”
All part of life as a city wizard. Make the people believe. Put on a good show. And when it comes time to use real magic, how much will I have left?
“Opening a hole under him ain’t an option?”
Azarak chuckled, although Sorial noted a frosty expression on Myselene’s face. “Seems like a good way to handle rivals; I wish I had that capability. Ferguson would have disappeared long ago.”
“How is he adjusting to his new situation?”
“As well as can be expected. The Temple has yet to officially relieve him of his responsibilities, but that’s only a formality. Candidates are already vying for his position; they’re awaiting my endorsement. Ferguson endured his punishment with dignity. I didn’t watch but I’m told he only cried out once while being scourged and not at all when his small fingers were removed. He fainted when they were cauterized. Now he spends his days reading some of the most obscure and dense texts from the palace library. By all accounts, he’s a model prisoner, although he doesn’t engage in the customary small talk with the guards who watch his quarters.”
“I want to see him,” said Sorial. He didn’t relish the idea, but it needed to be done. Ferguson knew things that Sorial had to learn, especially if he was going to confront his sister and The Lord of Fire and defend Vantok from an attack. There was only so much he could accomplish blundering around on his own. Ferguson was alive because of the knowledge locked in his brain. Sorial intended to plunder that.
“Now?” asked Azarak.
“Now.”
* * *
The Ferguson who greeted Sorial didn’t look like the proud, arrogant man he had confronted in the temple on his initial return to Vantok. That person had been a larger-than-life figure whose form, like his features, defied age. This one was a stooped old man. With his scalp, chin, and mustache shaved of all but coarse stubble, Ferguson’s face resembled a wrinkled fruit; he looked every one of his nearly one-hundred years. His hands were bandaged to aid the healing of the still-raw injuries created by the removal of his fingers. The one thing that hadn’t changed, however, was his gaze. His eyes were as fierce and intense as ever.
“You honor me by your visit, Your Magus.” There was no hint of irony in his tone.
“Something of a comedown for the Temple’s prelate, ain’t it?” asked Sorial, his eyes taking in the Spartan nature of Ferguson’s quarters. They were clean and simple. The stale air smelled slightly of urine, probably the result of the chamber pot not being frequently emptied.
Ferguson shrugged. “My primary duty is done. There are four wizards. There can be no more until one dies. The obligation laid upon me by the gods is fulfilled.”
“Ariel’s ascension didn’t work the way you expected.”
“No,” conceded Ferguson. “She represents my most grievous miscalculation. I admit to surprise when you told me of her fate, but it doesn’t change what must happen. You and she can’t co-exist. You must kill her. As you must kill The Lord of Fire, whoever he is. Then, when they’re dead, you can replace them with men loyal to your way of thinking. Ultimately, the four wizards must be united in their goals and beliefs. I was unable to achieve that, but hopefully you’ll succeed where I failed. The duty now falls upon you. I offer whatever aid I can provide.”
Whatever aid I can provide. This, from the man who had ordered Annie’s death and taken a gamble that could as easily have killed Alicia as elevated her to her current status as The Lady of Water. Now, he offered his assistance.
Ferguson’s voice turned hard at something he read in Sorial’s expression. “Don’t play the innocent with me, boy. You whine about what might have been but fail to consider what is. You and your beloved wife are wizards. Yes, people you care about have died, but that will always be the case. Would you rather be on the sidelines, sitting by powerless as The Lord of Fire storms in to sack the city? Would you rather be ground underfoot? Would you rather you’d never met Alicia? Whether you admit it or not, Duke Sorial, your life is infinitely better because of my interference, yet you nurse your grievances like sacred treasures. I’ve given you power enough to fight for your city when the time comes. You can make a difference now and in the future. Sorial the wizard can influence history for the better. Sorial the stableboy would more than likely die under the boots of The Lord of Fire’s soldiers.”
An angry retort died on Sorial’s lips. As galling as it was to admit, Ferguson was right. Of course, it remained to be seen whether responsibility and power were more a blessing or a curse.
“You need me and you know it,” continued Ferguson. “That’s why I was given a gentle chastisement rather than a quick execution. What Azarak did, he did on your orders. Your ‘condition,’ I assume, for agreeing to serve Vantok. I congratulate you on your foresight. I know more about wizards and magic than you could ever hope to learn. I’ve spent years doing little more than studying in a musty library halfway around the world - a library built by the wizards of ancient times in a place they thought no one without magic would ever discover. You could scour every tome in Azarak’s library and only begin to scratch the surface of the repository of knowledge locked within my brain.”
“Can you teach me how to beat The Lord of Fire?”
“Such a prosaic question. Does the depth of your understanding run so shallow? No, I can’t teach you that any more than I can instruct you how to make love to your wife. Defeating him isn’t a matter of magic. It’s a matter of opportunity and strategy. You may use magic to do it, but you might as easily use a sword, an arrow, or a f
ist.”
“If you can’t answer a question like that, what help are you?”
“I can suggest names to replace him after you’ve killed him. More importantly, I can tell you what his ultimate goal is.”
“His aim is obvious: make war on Vantok.”
Ferguson sniffed derisively. “That would be the objective of a fool of limited vision, and The Lord of Fire is no fool. He’s a meticulous planner. He’ll make war on Vantok as a prelude to something grander. He’ll seek to unify men under one banner and gain control of all the wizards. From that power base, he’ll launch his assault on The Otherverse. If he achieves that aim, not even he will be able to predict the outcome. It’s not fire, air, water, and earth that form the building blocks of all things, but order and chaos. Even the four elements are comprised and fueled by those forces. They are the basis of everything and they can be accessed through The Otherverse. In the normal course of things, wizards touch them indirectly. The Lord of Fire seeks a direct connection. The only things stopping him are safeguards put into place by the gods and not even I know whether those will hold if he makes a concerted push.”
Sorial understood little of what Ferguson said, but he knew enough to recognize that there were grim implications. It no longer seemed this was just a battle for one city. He stood silently, waiting for Ferguson so say more. But the old man remained stubbornly silent.
“Is that it?”
“No. But it would be pointless for me to tell you things you wouldn’t understand. Ask me a meaningful question and I’ll answer it. Prove to me that you have enough knowledge for you to process the information I provide rather than classify it as meaningless gibberish. Do some research on your own. Earn the answers.”
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 28