Sorial would have liked to give her as long as she needed. She was struggling through issues he had resolved in the solitude of his underground haven. But, even though the crisis with Obis had been averted, a more imposing challenge loomed. The Lord of Fire wasn’t likely to provide a reprieve. The heat bubble had to be stopped. And his inability to come up with a reasonable solution haunted Sorial day and night.
Soon after, Alicia, exhausted by effort and emotion, drifted into a deep slumber. Sorial continued to hold her, chasing the elusive specter of sleep throughout the night and into the early morning hours when he finally gave up.
* * *
Of all the things that had happened during the past day, Toranim’s death had dealt the biggest blow to Azarak. He had seen the body, carefully arranged so as to hide the horrific butcher’s cut that had ended his chancellor’s life, but that didn’t make it any more real.
Myselene, who had been a witness to what happened in the royal box, told him the story. Toranim had died a hero, stepping in the path of an infuriated Sangaska to keep him from killing Sorial. A brave if foolish decision, but at least it could be said that Toranim had died for something. Without his interference, perhaps Sangaska would have reached Sorial. A dead wizard or a dead chancellor - Azarak knew which one Toranim would have advocated.
Many of Vantok’s leading citizens had offered platitudes and condolences, remarking how Toranim had lived a long, full life and died in a manner that would make him proud. That was true enough, but dead was dead. It was the living who bore the burden of going on.
Azarak shifted in bed to relieve some of the pressure on his sore shoulder. He flexed the fingers of his right hand tentatively, still finding it hard to believe that the arm wasn’t a useless deadweight. After poking around in the wound and using her healing magic, Alicia had expressed cautious optimism. She didn’t think Azarak would regain the full strength or range of motion he had once possessed, but she believed he would be able to use it for grabbing, holding, and writing, if not wielding a sword. It was enough. But, at the moment, it was damnably painful. Still, considering Grushik’s expertise and ferocity, it could have been worse. Azarak had expected him to be good, but not that good.
He was alone in bed, his wife having temporarily relocated to another room so as not to crowd him at night. In their time together, he had discovered that she was a cuddler, and that was one thing he wasn’t able to do. He shifted his weight until he was able to reach the pull-bell with his left hand then rang it.
A day ago, Toranim would have responded to the summons wearing a dressing gown but with every hair in place and looking as if he hadn’t been awakened from a sound sleep. This night, the man who came was Toranim’s likely successor, Vice Chancellor Gorton. If he appeared wide awake, it was likely because he hadn’t yet gone to bed. The eventless departure of the Obis army was a delicate matter and Gorton was handling every detail personally. Thus far, things had gone smoothly.
Gorton came to the left side of the bed and executed a perfunctory bow. “How may I be of assistance, Your Majesty?”
“How’s my wife?” He hadn’t seen Myselene since their brief time together following Alicia’s healing. In fact, other than Gorton, an endless parade of healers, and Duke Carannan, Azarak hadn’t seen anyone.
“She’s retired for the evening but will join you in your chamber for breakfast at dawn. The ordeal has deeply upset her. Having watched her grow up, I can assure you such a thing is most unusual - Myselene is the most unflappable woman I’ve ever known. She’s grateful that you survived but mourns with you over the loss of Chancellor Toranim.
“On a personal level, I share your grief. I came to know Toranim well last year when we battled each other over every detail in the betrothal agreement. I looked forward to working with him under your rule and am saddened that won’t happen. I’ll serve Your Majesty to the best of my abilities, but I won’t be able to replace Chancellor Toranim nor can I match the wisdom he gained and the trust he earned in more than three decades of service to the Crown.”
Azarak was weary of thinking about Toranim. He needed a distraction. “How fares the troop withdrawal?”
“As well as can be expected, Your Majesty. The campsite has been vacated except for the 500 who remain behind. They’ll be relocated to more permanent quarters on the morrow. The bulk of Obis’ force is on the road, headed north. The only elements still in Vantok are the trailing supply wagons, which are finalizing purchases and will be departing by noon. The return journey will be shorter; Captain Greeg will use Widow’s Pass - an unusual decision with a force that size given the narrowness of the road. But he feels that, considering the instability created by the death of three kings, haste is necessary.”
Azarak wondered if it had occurred to Sangaska, before his impulsive attack of Sorial, that Grushik’s death had made him king. It was doubtful - the man had never been known as a quick thinker and, had he recognized his exalted position, he would have been more likely to embrace Sorial than punch him in the face. Rangarak’s rule had lasted many decades. Grushik’s had spanned two days. And Sangaska’s had ended less than five minutes after it started.
“Who will be king in Obis now?” asked Azarak.
“Perhaps only the augurs know. The line of succession was clear through Sangaska. After Rangarak, his trueborn son, Grushik, was next. Then Sangaska, the husband of his eldest daughter. After that... Technically, Myselene’s husband would follow Sangaska, but you’re ineligible on two counts, the most obvious being that you’re the king of Vantok. Also, by becoming your wife, Myselene forfeited all rights and claims related to her former title as second princess of Obis.
“That leaves the husband of the youngest princess, but his claim is dubious. Many won’t accept him.”
“What about one of the princesses?” asked Azarak. In Vantok, the succession went to the eldest child, regardless of sex, but he recognized that Obis was a patriarchal society. Nevertheless, if there were no male children...
“It may come to that. A bastard or two might emerge as a contender. It’s known that Rangarak sired a number of children with various mistresses. Or there may be a civil war. In a situation like this, there will be a lot of posturing and politicking and whoever emerges with the strongest hand will grab the throne. If not one of the legitimate or illegitimate children, it could be a distant cousin or a relative twice-removed. Ties to the military will prove important. If I was going to lay odds, it wouldn’t be on either of Rangarak’s daughters. They are weak-willed and would be unlikely to hold the throne if it was given to them. Myselene would have been another matter. But her future is here in Vantok, not in the North.”
“If she was to go there, as the Queen of Vantok, and claim rulership of Obis, would she receive support?”
“You mean as a force for unification?”
“Wasn’t that ultimately Rangarak’s plan?”
“Initially, no. It began innocently enough. When he sent Myselene here, it was simply because you represented the best possible marriage for her. Although she may not have recognized it, he held her in the highest regard. Once her betrothal to you was sealed, however, he began to think differently. I wasn’t privy to all his thoughts but I believe he may have been plotting ways to tie Vantok and Obis together, if not in this generation then in the next. I think he was disappointed to learn that Myselene didn’t share his ambitions.
“As to whether Obis would accept Myselene’s rule even knowing her to be the Queen of Vantok... I can’t say for sure. It would take a sizeable show of force and a promise that you would have no part in ruling Obis. If she tried something like that, the odds of success would be poor and the likelihood of assassination high. I wouldn’t recommend it and, knowing her as I do, I don’t think such a power play would interest her. Once, it might have, but not now. At some point last year, she became wholly focused on becoming the Queen of Vantok. This is her heart’s desire. Obis is a part of her past that she has little desire to revisit.”<
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“I was curious, that’s all. I have no desire to unite the two cities, especially with war coming. It’s difficult to contemplate a greater mismatch than Vantok and Obis.”
“We’re in agreement, then. One advantage of the instability in Obis is that it will take a long time before questions about the legitimacy of The Challenge and its aftermath can be raised. It will take the better part of a year before a new ruler is chosen and the new king or queen will require an equal amount of time to solidify his or her base of power. Two years from now, it’s unlikely that retaliation against Vantok will have much political or popular appeal, especially if you were to make a good faith offer of reparations.”
Left unsaid was the potential that Vantok wouldn’t be around in two years. If it came down to it, Azarak would be more than happy to face a hostile Obis in time because it would mean an even bigger danger had been overcome. No matter how intimidating the Iron King’s successor might be, The Lord of Fire represented a more real, immediate, and imposing threat - a threat Azarak would have to face without his most constant and trusted advisor to rely on.
* * *
This was Myselene’s first taste of real power - not the artificial variety she had enjoyed in Obis as a princess or the limited kind that had frustrated her as the king’s mistress. Now she was the queen and she wouldn’t squander the opportunity to flex her political muscles. She wished her new role had arrived during less unfortunate circumstances but at least her husband was alive, if not hale. Toranim’s absence was keenly felt. The man who would have watched from the shadows wouldn’t be there to guide her away from obvious pitfalls. She was on her own and there were two important matters to attend to before her afternoon meeting with Vice Chancellor Gorton.
The first was a session with Ambassador Uthgarb of Basingham. Vantok’s closest neighbor hadn’t been represented at the royal wedding. Neither Uthgarb nor his liege, King Durth, had elected to attend. In normal circumstances, that might have been considered a snub but relations between the two cities had been frosty in the half-decade since the discovery of Queen Amenia’s dalliance with Ambassador Ravensforth of Basingham. For two years following Ravensforth’s death, Durth had refused to appoint a replacement. Eventually, Uthgarb had been named to the position, but he was away from Vantok more often than in residence.
The time had come, Myselene decided, for a warming of relations. Vantok was going to need Basingham as an ally in the upcoming war against The Lord of Fire - both as a supplier of supplementary troops and as a destination for refugees. It was reasonable to believe that, if Vantok lost the battle, Basingham would be the next target. No one believed the fire-wizard’s goal would be achieved with the conquest of a single city.
Myselene met Uthgarb in Azarak’s private sanctum. She intended to follow her husband’s lead and host important gatherings in this setting, where she could face her guests across a table while they sipped from a goblet of Vantok’s finest vintage - precisely what Uthgarb was doing at the moment.
He was a fat man, physically unlike his predecessor, who had been the picture of elegance. It was widely assumed that Uthgarb, who disliked the heat with the intensity of many obese men, had been assigned to his post in Vantok as a punishment. For a diplomat, he was surprisingly lacking in tact. His appearance was slovenly, with stains on his expensive, expansive clothing, thinning hair that was often uncombed, and strands on his chin that were midway between stubble and a full beard. Uthgarb was rumored to be a eunuch with appetites only for good food and fine wine. The temptations of the flesh, whether male or female, held no interest, and the potency of his body odor would have kept all but the most stalwart bed partners at a distance. But he could be bought for a seven course meal - a fact that Myselene kept in mind.
“This is an excellent wine, Your Majesty,” said Uthgarb by way of opening the conversation. “It’s said the best vintages emerge from hot, arid environs, so maybe this is the silver lining to Vantok’s recent spate of bad weather.
“I come before you today to offer congratulations and best wishes of King Durth on the happy occasion of your marriage to King Azarak. I’ll deliver these felicitations personally to your husband once he emerges from his convalescence. Until then, I’m at your service.”
“The king was disappointed that King Durth didn’t accept the invitation to the wedding.”
“King Durth felt that, in light of the unfortunate allegations about a relationship between Queen Amenia and Ambassador Ravensforth, it would be better for all concerned for His Majesty not to be present. I would have happily attended but King Durth believed the attendance of an ambassador instead of royalty might be considered a slight.”
That hadn’t stopped the rulers of Syre, Andel, and Earlford from sending functionaries in their places. Durth’s message was clear: he still held a grudge against Azarak for Ravensforth’s murder.
“King Azarak and I have a proposition for King Durth - one that may allow us to heal old wounds and build a bridge to a closer relationship in the future.”
Uthgarb’s expression betrayed his curiosity. He had anticipated this to be a straightforward, perfunctory meeting. Myselene was intent on confounding his expectations.
“Indeed, Your Majesty? I’m certain King Durth would welcome any opportunity to increase the amity between cities that are such close neighbors.”
“Then perhaps the place to start is with openness between us. I assume Basingham has a small contingent of scouts near the border of The Forbidden Lands.”
“That would be a logical assumption. While any dangers in that foreboding territory would be of more immediate concern to Vantok, they are close enough to Basingham to warrant notice.”
“Then you’re aware there has been a southward migration of nomadic tribes.”
Uthgarb nodded, his multiple chins and low-hanging jowls jiggling in unison with the bobbing of his head.
“What you may not know - and which we only know through a stroke of luck - is that a vast army is massing south of the mountains. We have reason to believe that force will eventually move north and strike at Vantok. And, if this city falls, the enemy will continue its northward progression, with Basingham being its next likely target.”
“There are rumors that corroborate your suppositions, Your Majesty, but they are just rumors. I can see why you might be concerned, however. Let me mention another rumor we have heard in Basingham. It has come to our attention that Vantok may have filled an obsolete position in the noble hierarchy reserved for a magus. Foolish, some might say, but the rumors indicate that, as a proving exercise to the populace, this supposed wizard built a mountain where none existed before. And, upon entering the city this morning from the north, I couldn’t help but notice that, in fact, there is a mountain where none was before.”
“It’s no rumor. Vantok is protected by a wizard. His name is Sorial and you may meet with him if you so desire. And the rumors about the southern army are also not rumors. That force represents the greatest danger to the six cities in centuries, not only because of the tenacity of the men but because they are led by two wizards, The Lord of Fire and The Lady of Air. And if you think I have succumbed to a flight of fancy worthy only of children and gibbering idiots, consider whether any power other than magic or the gods could afflict Vantok with this interminable heat wave.”
“I am inclined to believe you, Your Majesty. If, as you say, Basingham could be a secondary target of this enemy army, it would be foolish of me not to at least consider this information and to bring it to King Durth’s attention, but I suspect you have a more concrete reason for providing what would normally be privileged intelligence.”
“We seek two things from Basingham. The first is for the city to enter into an agreement to accept refugees from Vantok should there be a need to evacuate the citizenry.”
Uthgarb pursed his overripe lips. “Such a thing could be arranged, but sheltering refugees costs money. What you propose would be expensive. Potentially very expensive. And
, as a show of good faith, we would expect to see an upfront expenditure that wouldn’t be refundable.”
Azarak had assured Myselene that price would never be an option, although it would be foolish to reveal that. Having an earth-wizard allowed access to unlimited gems and precious metals. “I’m sure we can come to an equitable arrangement as soon as we learn what remuneration King Durth would need for this. Also, Vantok would like to host a garrison of Basingham’s troops that would fight alongside Vantok’s army should hostilities ensue. Recognizing the expense associated with transporting a large number of men and their equipment, we would offer not only to pay all related costs but also a bonus to each man involved and a sizeable gift of thanks to the king to do with as he sees fit.” Essentially, Myselene was offering to rent the troops from Basingham as temporary mercenaries while bribing Durth to acquiesce to the deal. The only questions were likely to be how many troops, how long before they would be recalled, and how deeply into Vantok’s bottomless treasury Basingham would reach.
“A most intriguing offer,” said Uthgarb, licking his lips in anticipation of his commission as the broker of the deal. “It is, of course, a complex matter that must be discussed with His Majesty and the leaders of the militia, but I see no reason why, in the spirit of cooperation, we couldn’t send a small force to Vantok. After all, if an enemy comes north, it’s to our benefit to stop them at Vantok.”
It was the same argument Myselene intended to use with the ambassador of Earlford when she interviewed him on the morrow. Syre and Andel, unfortunately, were too far away to be willing to spare troops, and making a further request of Obis was foolish at this time.
Myselene spent the next tedious half-hour discussing matters of little import with Uthgarb, whose goal with every small topic of conversation was to divine how full the coffers of Vantok’s treasury were. After the odious man had departed, she felt the strong urge for a bath, but there was little time to rest. Soon after Ambassador Uthgarb left, Overcommander Vikon arrived.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 37