With a devilish twinkle in her eyes and her hair in disarray, the queen lifted her face from between the king’s legs and replied, “Wasteful, I suppose. But I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Are you surprised how... smoothly... things went today?” It had been an almost perfect wedding. Thinking back on his first nuptials, which had been less of a logistical nightmare, this one had passed with fewer niggling issues. The biggest problem had happened when fat Baron Folster fell and broke his leg climbing the steps to the throne room’s outside entrance. Their fear, that there might be some sort of magical attack, had been unfounded. Whether Sorial’s presence and vigilance were in part responsible, they would never know.
“Honestly, yes,” admitted Myselene, crawling up to lie next to him face-to-face. “I got it into my head to expect balls of fire and tornadoes. So much normalcy was almost disappointing.”
“Don’t get used to it. Once the tournament is over, we’re going to have to get serious about the business of war. The first step will be integrating our new 500 soldiers into the army as a whole. I’ll have to replace Overcommander Vikon, who’s been making disloyal statements. If I was sure of the fidelity of the men sent by your father, I might appoint one of them. And we’ll need to step up scouting parties to the south. Now that we know the location of the enemy’s army, we’ll have to keep a close watch on him.”
“Gorton can help.”
“I know. As soon as he’s given his oath, he’ll go straight into a briefing with Toranim. I’m well aware of our new vice chancellor’s credentials. As for the men from Obis... will their loyalty to you be strong enough to break their ties to your father?”
“Initially, no. Gorton’s an exception in this as in most other things. Once his loyalty’s given, you can rely on it. The rest of them, even after swearing fidelity to Vantok, will still see themselves as my father’s subjects. Only time will remedy that. And if we can find them wives here, that will speed things along. They have to see this as their home, not a barracks half the world away.”
“Arranged marriages?”
Myselene shrugged. “They work. Look at us. Marriages founded on something as impermanent as love are overrated.”
“Many of the soldiers would have to make what they might view as ‘disadvantageous’ unions - the only ones willing to enter into such arrangements would be peasant girls.”
“The Crown can support the marriages with a handsome grant. Two gold apiece, for example. With that kind of dowry, even the most class-conscious soldier would agree to marry a disreputable slattern.”
“You’ll bankrupt the treasury.”
“With Sorial’s contributions, you have a limitless treasury. He can find gold faster than you can spend it. According to Alicia, he could be the richest man alive if it mattered to him.”
“Whatever happens, we need to put distance between the 500 and their 1700 brothers, and that means encouraging your father to depart as soon as possible.”
“Once he wins the tournament, he’ll take a day or two to boast about it then go. He doesn’t like the weather here; he’s anxious to get back home or at least outside the heat bubble around the city.”
“I’ll ask Sorial to refrain from bringing back the cooler weather until after your father’s gone.”
“What about Alicia’s status?” asked Myselene.
“What about it?”
“I understand the reasons for keeping the truth about her secret, but she isn’t getting her fair due as long as she isn’t publicly recognized as more than ‘The Wizard’s Bride’.”
“Has she complained about it? I know you’ve been spending time with her.”
“No. It’s unfair, though. She’s as much a wizard as Sorial yet he gets all the accolades as The Lord of Earth and she has to play the dutiful wife.”
“If an arrow hadn’t punched through his chest, we wouldn’t know about her, either,” said Azarak.
“I knew the moment I saw her. Or at least I suspected. It was evident from her body language and the gaps in their story. But that doesn’t matter. We know the truth but the people don’t.”
“Which is the point. That ‘truth,’ as you put it, is a weapon and it can only be used once. We have to pick the time when it will provide the best strategic advantage. After that, she can collect all the adulation that’s her due.”
* * *
King Rangarak requested a private audience with Azarak before the commencement of round one of the Great Tournament. It was an event the Iron King was widely expected to win. No one else from the Obis contingent had entered, including Rangarak’s son, who might have been the only potential contender to offer him a serious challenge. The other combatants were soldiers of Vantok and, as good as some were, none had the experience, appearance, or reputation of Rangarak. The odds were so skewed in his favor that many of Vantok’s gambling establishments had refused bets for first place of the contest. The hotly debated question was who would face (and lose to) Rangarak in the final round.
Theoretically, the tournament was in honor of the marriage of Azarak and Myselene. The bride so disliked combat that she refused to attend. Azarak, on the other hand, had no choice unless he wanted to give offense so, although he was less than enthused about a sporting event in which the result was predetermined, he agreed to preside over the tournament.
Azarak deemed it unlikely however, that the Iron King wanted to speak to him about the coming gladiatorial bout. There was something ominous about the way the request had been phrased: “His Majesty, the Iron King Rangarak requests a brief audience with His Majesty of Vantok, Azarak, to discuss details pertaining to the marriage agreement.” That sort of ambiguous communiqué rarely boded well.
The meeting took place in the private sanctum. Azarak, dressed in the robes of state he would shortly wear in public, was joined by Toranim. Rangarak, in full, polished armor, was accompanied by his son, Grushik, who was clothed in black with his father’s crest emblazoned in silver on his breast. They were two beasts of men: huge specimens of humanity made almost invulnerable by the donning of armor and the bearing of arms. It was possible that, due to his age, Grushik might be a more formidable opponent than Rangarak. The son’s decision not to enter the tournament was a mark of respect for his father rather than a tacit admission that he would lose. For Grushik, a victory over the Iron King could be more damaging than a loss.
Both men from Obis were standing, in part because, as a result of his bulky armor, Rangarak couldn’t fit into chair. So as not to be at a gross disadvantage of height - Azarak didn’t want the Iron King to loom over him - the Vantok contingent eschewed seats as well.
“This won’t take long, Your Majesty,” said Rangarak. “But it’s only fair I advise you of a change in my advisory body before you begin administering the oaths of loyalty to your new citizens today.”
That didn’t sound at all promising.
“Yesterday morning, prior to the wedding ceremony, Vice Chancellor Gorton was removed from his position for conduct unbecoming a royal advisor. He will be taken back to Obis and tried for these charges. In the interim, I’ve replaced him with my son, Grushik. I’m aware of the language in the betrothal agreement that reads: ‘The Vice Chancellor of Obis shall transfer his allegiance to Vantok, where he will occupy a similar position of authority to the one he currently holds.’ We intend to stand by that agreement.”
Azarak, despite being schooled in the art of not betraying his emotions through minute changes in facial expressions, wasn’t completely successful in concealing his displeasure. A move like this on the part of the Iron King wasn’t entirely unexpected but Azarak had been hoping to avoid the diplomatic meltdown that could occur as a result.
“Of course,” continued Rangarak, “It’s not possible for my new vice chancellor to take the oath of fealty to Vantok as it would be highly inappropriate for the heir to the throne of Obis to have divided loyalties. That being said, however, I intend for Grushik to remain behind when my continge
nt leaves. He can serve as one of your key advisors with a seat on your council while renewing his relationship with his sister and providing invaluable suggestions should Vantok become embroiled in a military engagement, as whispers suggest. Grushik has one of the finest military minds in all the North - finer even than Gorton. On balance, I believe this will work better for both cities.”
Azarak wondered if Rangarak believed him to be a simpleton. The implications of this switch were obvious. If Grushik remained behind, Azarak’s life expectancy would be short - probably only until a child or two had been produced. During that time, Grushik would amass a base of power within Vantok, drawing on the support of those disaffected with the current regime. After Azarak’s assassination, Myselene would hold the throne only if she cooperated with her father and brother.
Of course, it wasn’t a foolproof plan. It assumed any imminent war would be won by Vantok (presumably with Grushik positioning himself to be hailed as a hero, improving his popularity among the masses) and that Sorial’s impact could be neutralized. Azarak wondered how Rangarak planned to manage that situation. Perhaps assassination.
“So you intend to break a duly ratified agreement only a day after it went into effect. Not a good way to begin a new era in Vantok/Obis relations.” Azarak made the statement bluntly, without couching it in diplomatically palatable language.
“Come, Your Majesty! You can’t honestly believe I would allow such an important person as my son to swear allegiance to Vantok.”
“Not at all. I expect that you will permit Vice Chancellor Gorton to renounce his citizenship of Obis and join my court. The only reason he wasn’t referenced by name in the betrothal agreement is because no one believed there was a need for such specificity. But everyone, yourself included, understood that Gorton was expected to be part of the package delivered at the wedding. Now, not only are you attempting to circumvent that but you offer in Gorton’s stead an alternate who will continue to report to you as he sits on my council!”
“Gorton will be returning to Obis. My decision to permit him to reside in Vantok has always been conditional. Grushik will remain here and will be in direct command of the 500 men being left behind. They will swear your oath but don’t misunderstand for a moment where their ultimate loyalty would lie in the event of a falling-out between our two cities.”
Azarak was finding it increasingly difficult to hold his temper, even while recognizing that losing it now could risk a diplomatic incident with cataclysmic consequences. “If you’re firm in your decision not to allow Gorton to remain, then might I respectfully request that you re-consider your choice for the new vice chancellor; let him be someone who could swear fealty to Vantok, even if it’s a lesser personage.”
“My son has already been given the position. There will be no reconsidering.”
“Then, since you have elected not to follow the agreement let me also depart from it. Gorton will not be replaced. Either he will fill Vantok’s vice chancellor position or no one will. No one will sit on my council or hold a position of authority in Vantok except the man previously selected by mutual agreement.”
Now it was Rangarak’s turn to show the beginnings of anger. He took a step toward Azarak and poked him forcefully in the chest with a beefy index finger. “You listen to me, Your Majesty. You’re nothing but a jumped-up bureaucrat, and not even a good one at that. Your militia is inadequate and poorly trained. The sanitation is deplorable. There’s no irrigation. There are beggars on the street. If Vantok is the ‘Jewel of the South,’ the other cities must be shitholes indeed. Don’t think you can issue edicts when you don’t have the army to challenge half the force I brought with me. Grushik will remain behind. He’ll be appointed to your council and given the title of vice chancellor. And, among whatever other responsibilities you trust to him, he’ll have direct command over those among your militia who were once citizens of Obis. These are my new terms; reject them at your peril.”
Azarak recognized that if he said the wrong word or combination of words, Vantok could face a war far sooner than when The Lord of Fire began his northward march. At the same time, he couldn’t simply accede to the Iron King’s demands. To do so would betray a lack of backbone that would cause him to lose respect not only among those in the room, but all across the city.
“We both understand what’s really going on,” said Azarak, forcing into his voice a note of icy calmness he didn’t feel. “There’s nothing I can do to prevent Grushik from remaining in Vantok. In fact, as a representative of Obis, he’ll be an honored guest and will be accorded every courtesy. But, as long as he’s an ambassador of a foreign city, he’ll be given limited access and no authority over the citizens of Vantok, regardless of where they were born and raised. Should he exceed his mandate, he’ll be arrested and deported.
“One other thing: in the event of my untimely demise, he would be advised to quit Vantok immediately and flee to Obis. I have a great many allies who would seek to avenge my death, one of whom is a wizard. Grushik would undoubtedly be a suspect if an assassination occurred, and it might be that some of my operatives would be unwilling to wait for a trial.”
* * *
“Not exactly a state of war, but close enough. Let’s say that relations between Vantok and Obis are at a low ebb,” said Azarak, explaining the situation to Sorial, who had been summoned immediately following Rangarak’s departure for the tournament. They were in one of the palace’s back gardens, enjoying a leisurely stroll around the grounds. The flowering bushes were in full bloom but the location had been chosen more for its security than its beauty. Here, they were safe from the nest of spies that infiltrated the palace.
A loud cheer went up from the parade grounds, which were located midway between the palace and the temple. The tournament was just underway and thousands were in attendance, packing the streets around the grounds and standing on nearby rooftops, much as had been the case for Sorial’s demonstration. Having made an appearance, Azarak had retreated to the palace to meet with the wizard. He would be back in time to watch Rangarak’s first round match so as not to cause offense.
“What are your plans?” asked Sorial. He was possessed of sufficient political understanding to recognize that if Grushik remained in Vantok, an attempt on Azarak’s life was a certainty. Rather than risk a clash of armies that could inflict heavy losses on Vantok’s military with the threat of an invasion looming, the Iron King had elected to attempt something that, at least for him, was subtle.
“My options are limited for the moment. If I refuse, Rangarak will either attack with the forces immediately available to him or blockade the city while sending for a sizeable contingent of reinforcements. If I allow Grushik to remain and grant him the seat on the council demanded by his father, not only am I setting a dangerous precedent, but I’m putting my life and reign in jeopardy.”
“Do you trust Myselene to oppose them?”
Azarak didn’t hesitate in affirming his new wife’s loyalty. “Yes, although I don’t know what she’ll do if I’m killed. Likely whatever’s required to retain the throne for herself and any children, born or unborn. I couldn’t fault her for that, but it would mean letting Rangarak believe she’s biddable.”
“But if Rangarak or Grushik makes a play for the throne while you’re still alive...?”
“She’d oppose them. But she’s not the wild card; you are.”
Sorial nodded. He had suspected it would come to this. Rangarak had the advantage of military might. Azarak had the advantage of magical strength to supplement his physical resources. “All things considered, that might actually be Alicia. Rangarak knows about me.”
“Despite his newfound conversion to a belief in wizards, I doubt he understands what you’re capable of and, as impressive as it was, your demonstration amounted to little more than an elevated parlor trick. He considers you but I don’t think he believes you’d make much of a difference in a battle.”
“But you don’t want it to come to that.”
“Not with Rangarak. You’ll eventually be tried by fire, if you’ll pardon the expression, but Vantok is ill equipped to fight one war, let alone two. This must be resolved without a clash of arms, which means I must accede to Rangarak’s demands, or at least seem to.”
“And that’s where you want my help.”
“Once Rangarak is far enough away that a return trip is unlikely even if messages from his son cease to reach him, it would benefit everyone if Grushik was simply to disappear. No trace. As if a hole in the ground opened up and swallowed him.”
Sorial said nothing. Did it trouble him to be used as an assassin? Not in this case, when he understood the choice as being between Grushik and Azarak. The dilemma, if there was one, was that once Sorial did this once, it would be difficult to refuse a similar commission in the future. There were other options open to Azarak, but they were more complicated and prone to failure. Grushik was a big, dangerous man. He would have elite troops protecting him. And he would be prepared for an attack. A conventional assassin’s odds of success were poor. Sorial, on the other hand, could think of a half-dozen ways to eliminate him without a trace. This, at least, was something that could be accomplished in a brute force manner, without demanding anything in the way of creativity.
“Can I depend on you in this matter?” pressed Azarak, unwilling to accept Sorial’s silence as his assent.
“Let me know when Rangarak’s army is far enough away for me to act.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: TOURNAMENT
Azarak’s impression of the tournament was that it was a contest for those who, having grown up during the city’s longest extended peacetime, had never seen genuine combat. The sight of two heavily armored men hoisting unwieldy lances as they charged at one another atop warhorses elicited shouts and cheers from the crowd, especially when the inevitable clash was violent enough to unhorse at least one participant.
Unlike past tournaments, when a returning champion basked in the adulation of the throng, it had been long enough since the last major competition that all the old favorites had retired from the bone-crunching sport, leaving the field wide open - at least insofar as coming in second to Rangarak could be considered a laudable goal. For the most part, those attending were there for one of two reasons, neither of which had anything to do with sentimental rooting or hero-worship. Those spectators who hadn’t gambled their hard earned studs on one contender or another were hoping to see as many gruesome collisions as possible.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 31