The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  Azarak nodded curtly. But when Alicia was recovered, if she was recovered, her “rightful place” would be different from its previous location.

  * * *

  Myselene was waiting when Azarak returned to his bedchamber. Outside, the first rays of dawn were tickling the eastern skyline. It had been a long night. Following Ferguson’s departure, the king had spent hours strategizing with his chancellor. Toranim had agreed with his assessment that, although the priests could be at the forefront of the search for Alicia, this was too important a situation to be left entirely to a dying religious order. Azarak had sufficient non-military resources peppered throughout the South that he should be able to independently locate and intercept Alicia without having to be concerned about relying on Ferguson as an intermediary.

  Something about Alicia’s escape bothered him. It had been too easy, too clean. According to Ferguson, she had no longer been viewed as a likely flight risk once Sorial left the city, but Azarak saw that as an example of inexcusably poor judgment. At the very least, Alicia should have had a constant shadow or minder day and night. He wondered if Ferguson was beginning to show signs of senility - something that, if true, could be an unfortunate turn of events during a time of crisis. The prelate harbored too many secrets that could ill afford to be lost to a failing memory.

  Azarak poured himself a glass of wine from the bedside decanter and slumped into a chair rather than returning to bed. His days started early; catching a hour’s sleep would be worse than staying awake.

  Myselene sat up, the coverlet demurely wrapped around her. Alone in the large bed, she appeared tiny and vulnerable. “Is it often like this?”

  “Not as often as you might think; more often than I might like.” He drained the goblet and poured another, wishing he had something stronger on hand. He could ring a bell and ask a servant to bring a bottle of spirits, but that seemed like too much effort.

  “Copper for your thoughts?”

  He laughed. “I’m a king. Surely my thoughts are worth more than that? At least a silver, if not a gold.”

  “I’m a poor princess.”

  “You have other assets.”

  With a twinkle in her eye, she dropped the coverlet, bounced a couple of times so things jiggled nicely, then covered up again.

  “Where’s the copper?” asked Azarak.

  She ignored him. “I want you to confide in me. I’m sure you know the saying, ‘A burden shared is a burden halved.’ You’ve borne too many burdens alone for too long.”

  “I have Toranim.”

  “He’s your chancellor. I don’t mean to downplay his importance, but he’s a functionary. Now you have someone else, someone your equal. Trust me.”

  Azarak took a sip of the wine and gazed at her across the rim of the goblet. So young, so beautiful, so ambitious. He wondered if her father knew what a sharp, unpolished gem she was. She would soon be his wife and Vantok’s queen. It was time for her to understand the nature of the problems besetting what would soon be her city.

  “Now that the nature of the faith has changed, how are priests viewed in Obis?”

  “They’re treated with respect but less reverence than before. Obis and Vantok worship the same gods, but there are differences in our theologies. We always believed the gods’ stewardship was finite; there would come a time when they would set us adrift on our own. Until recently, the priests were our spiritual guides, those who taught us the will of the gods and enabled us to stay in their favor. Now, they’re caretakers, left behind by the gods to guide us through the early era of their absence.”

  “Was there a spiritual crisis in Obis when it became generally known that the gods no longer watch over us?” Azarak still didn’t understand whether the gods had ceased to exist or had merely turned away from their creations. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Ferguson hadn’t made a public statement on the matter; officially, the Temple still served the deities.

  “Not a crisis. There was some despair. But no characteristic is more important in Obis than discipline and my father brought down the iron glove hard on any who turned to the path of the outlaw. He made it clear that, although they might no longer have to fear the wrath of the gods, his wrath was more terrible. It only took a few public executions to stem any growing lawlessness. People still visited the temple, but it was more for the comfort of doing something familiar than to actually pray.”

  “Would it was so placid here. We’ve experienced wave after wave of crime. Citizens driven out of their homes, merchant caravans sacked and pillaged on their way to the city. One of the motivators for instituting the conscription is because we need a stronger Watch.”

  “But there’s more to it, isn’t there? The heat. It’s unnatural. It’s made civil unrest more violent. Vantok is in turmoil; even an outsider can sense it.” Myselene had noticed this shortly after her arrival yet it never muted her ambitions. In fact, the challenge of ruling a damaged city was in some ways more appealing than becoming queen of a peaceful, healthy one. There would be satisfaction in mending the hurt.

  “The people connect the departure of the gods with the physical deprivations of the heat wave. They’re right, after a fashion. But the heat isn’t a result of the gods’ abandonment. If we’re to believe our prelate, it’s the byproduct of their last actions to provide for us.” Azarak explained much of what he had pieced together from his long hours spent in the library and his conversations with Ferguson.

  “Do you believe in wizards? Or, more precisely, whether a wizard can exist in today’s world?” Azarak wondered how open-minded his bride-to-be might be on this question. Most people, if asked, would answer in the negative, despite overwhelming evidence that something unnatural was responsible for Vantok’s ongoing heat wave.

  Myselene smiled. “I’m young enough to believe in fairy stories. My father would scoff at the notion and box my ears for entertaining it, but when someone as rational as you approaches their existence as a fact, who am I to doubt? It makes a certain perverse sense that the gods would return magic to us upon their departure but it’s in our nature to misuse gifts like that. If I remember my history correctly, abuses led to magic being taken away.”

  “Wizards started setting themselves up as gods. They had temples erected for worshippers. The gods’ retribution was to strip the living wizards of their powers and remove the capacity from the unborn.”

  “Now it’s back?”

  “So it seems. What many don’t realize is there can be only four wizards at any given time. Each derives power through an intimate connection with an element - fire, earth, water, air. If Sorial has the capacity to be a wizard, this could be a critical issue for him. We suspect a fire-wizard exists and is responsible for the heat that has withered Vantok. If Sorial’s potential is for fire, the portal will reject him. If his element is one for which a wizard doesn’t currently exist, the portal will accept him, assuming he has the innate capacity to control magic.

  “Much of what was written in the old days about wizards has been lost, some is in indecipherably archaic language, and some is too technical for me to understand. But I know this - once it’s generally accepted that magic has returned, people are going to die at the portals, either because they have no ability or because they’re blocked by an existing wizard. More than a thousand years ago, a guild existed to regulate those who sought to pass the portal test. Candidates were permitted to ‘audition’ only when there was a confirmed opening and a panel of scholars assessed the likelihood of their success. Without those checks, thousands might have died needlessly. I shudder to think what will happen today if ignorance and superstition are allowed to control how the portals are used.”

  “How many portals are there?” asked Myselene. Her spotty education on the subject claimed they were all destroyed. The existence of viable portals was intriguing information.

  “We know of two - one in The Forbidden Lands at the site of lost Havenham and one in the northlands, not far from your home, at Ibitsal.”

/>   She nodded. “Ibitsal is said to be haunted. No one goes there. The Obis-Syre road had to be moved long ago because it came too close to the ruins. When enough merchants balked at making the trip, the kings of Obis and Syre agreed to divert it. The project took years and some of those working on it went mad with fear. I wonder if the ghost stories are related to the portal or whether they’re the result of efforts of men like Ferguson to frighten away curiosity-seekers and adventurers.”

  “It’s said the portals call to those with talent. Maybe some mistook the call for the voices of the dead.”

  “Or maybe it really is haunted.”

  “There may be other portals. In fact, there probably are. A thousand years ago, every major human habitation had a portal. Those in today’s great cities have been razed but there are doubtless others untouched by the purge. It wouldn’t take more than a thousand year-old map to make an educated guess at possible locations.”

  “We must protect those that exist or find a way to create new ones. If people rush the portals eager to become wizards and many die, there could be a movement to destroy those that stand. Educating people about the dangers and limitations of portals will require a generation to take root.”

  Azarak nodded. It was a concern Ferguson had brushed away, but with only four slots available and thousands seized with a lust for magic... it was only a matter of time before the masses would rise up and strike at the portals as the killers of their sons and daughters. And what if a wizard, jealous of his power, decided to remove the capability of others to challenge him?

  “How well do you know this Sorial?” asked Myselene.

  “He was an indentured servant to an innkeeper until his Maturity then he became a member of Duke Carannan’s militia.”

  Myselene shook her head. “I’m not asking what he did, but who he is. Does he have a good character? Is he a man you’d feel comfortable ceding power and position to?”

  Azarak considered. He didn’t know Sorial. He had met him only once, and that had been a perfunctory visit. Everything he knew about the young man was second-hand, filtered through Ferguson. “Had I known of his importance earlier, I would have taken the time to get to know him. I would have monitored his progress and done my best to instill in him my love of this city. Those who know him indicate he’s honest and hard-working. Warburm the innkeeper says he’s the best stableboy he’s ever had.”

  “Do they love each other? Sorial and the duke’s daughter?”

  Azarak nodded. “Their meeting was orchestrated by Ferguson and Warburm with help from Carannan. The goal was to form a deep bond between those two before Alicia’s status as The Wizard’s Bride was formalized. She became an attainable prize.”

  Myselene frowned, but recognized it as the kind of tactic her father would admire. “A dangerous game, and I can see why retrieving her is critical. If Sorial fails, she’s irrelevant, but if he succeeds, she’s all that stands between Vantok and his wrath. Your prelate plays a risky hand.”

  “The risks he takes are warranted. What aggravates me is that he doesn’t inform me until after they can’t be undone.”

  Myselene considered. “His position isn’t what it once was. When he spoke with the voice of the gods, his words couldn’t be questioned. But they’ve spoken their last, at least to us. You have to ensure he understands that, in this new order, he’s your subject not your equal and withholding information is treasonous.”

  “That’s what your father would do?”

  “No. My father would have him arrested and speak to him from the position of captor to captive. But my father rules in Obis, where the culture is substantially different and the prelate has always been subservient to the king. None would dare withhold even a tiny bit of information from my father, let alone a strongbox of secrets.”

  “With Ferguson, I have to tread carefully. He’s revered like no other priest and his influence is as strong in secular circles as in religious ones. To embarrass him, even in private, would be a grave error.”

  “Is he strong enough to have you deposed?” In the history books, such a thing wasn’t unheard of. Some prelates were more political than others. In the distant past, a few of the most ambitious had tried to hold both the crown and the Temple’s scepter.

  “No,” said Azarak. “At least not on his own. But he could stir up discontent and make it difficult to rule. And, if things got ugly, he could level a charge of heresy at me. It no longer carries the weight it once did, but it would foment concern about the legitimacy of my reign. One of the reasons Ferguson hasn’t formally acknowledged the abandonment of the gods is because to do so would erode his power base.”

  “You can have him killed.”

  He had already considered and rejected the option. “He’s too important in the overall scheme of things. When it comes down to it, he’s on our side. He fights for Vantok. This is his home as well as ours. We share the same goals, although I don’t agree with his methods. An assassination would be bloody and ugly - not to mention logistically difficult.”

  Myselene rose naked from the bed, padded on bare feet to where Azarak was brooding, and deposited herself on his lap, facing him. She was immediately aware of having his full attention.

  “Once Alicia is found, bring her to the palace rather than the temple. Once here, she and I can become confidantes. We’re of an age, aren’t we?”

  Azarak nodded. He wondered if he should mention that Alicia’s reputation painted her as bitchy, spoiled, and notoriously difficult to befriend.

  “With Sorial gone, the most important thing is to express heartfelt sympathy. If she’s a true noble, she’ll be gratified the queen takes an interest in her.”

  “Assuming we can recapture her.”

  “Let Ferguson attempt to ‘recapture’ her. You’ll bring her home.”

  “Same difference.”

  “No, it isn’t. The Lady Alicia must be offered every courtesy. Be forthright with her. By now, she’s so used to being lied to that mistrust on her part is to be expected. Bring her back, but let her know it’s for her protection. Then give her more freedom than she ever had in the temple and believe she’ll use it not to embark upon a fruitless quest for her future husband, but to wait with you for his return.”

  “The crux of the matter is that she doesn’t believe he’ll return. In her view, his journey is tantamount to suicide. It’s unclear whether she doesn’t accept that wizards have returned of if she’s convinced Sorial isn’t one of them. Either way, she sees this as a rescue mission and that will make it impossible to keep her here once we have her, unless her movement is restricted.”

  “Difficult, yes. Impossible, no. My task will be to convince her that wizards are real, her lover is destined to be one, and she can best serve him, herself, and Vantok by remaining here. Providing her with a residence in the palace will loosen Ferguson’s control over her. That should accomplish everything nicely.”

  Azarak couldn’t help but smile. Nothing Myselene suggested was unreasonable. Her offer to befriend Alicia might make all the difference. Myselene was the kind of women whose attention was craved by others, regardless of their sex. Alicia would understand the overture was being made because of her position as The Wizard’s Bride, but he suspected that for one so young and starved for companionship, she would accept it regardless of the underlying reason. He understood loneliness and what it meant to have someone hold out a hand, even if the primary incentive wasn’t selfless friendship and amity. There were times when the act meant infinitely more than the motivation behind it.

  “Acting the queen already,” he said. “And the announcement has yet to be made to the general public.”

  She frowned. That was a sore point between them. She wanted an immediate proclamation. Not only would it strengthen her position - her current distinction as ‘the king’s mistress’ was honorable enough but legally ambivalent - but it would allow her to begin planning the wedding festivities. Azarak, on the other hand, wanted confirmation from the kin
g of Obis that he had approved the betrothal agreement. A fast courier had been sent north with a copy and the response would come by bird. Yet in the best of circumstances, that would take at least two more weeks, and possibly as long as three.

  Azarak took note of her sour expression. “Never fear, little one. I won’t change my mind but this must be done properly. It would be an insult to your father if we announce our intentions to the population before he gives his final approval. It may be fait accompli, but the order of things must be observed.” She was young and impatient - Azarak could well remember those days - but few things were more bound by protocol than a royal wedding. Giving into impatience could ensure it wouldn’t happen.

  After a moment’s pouting, Myselene sighed. “I suppose there are benefits to not being officially betrothed. Once I have a public status, I must behave with the utmost decorum, as befits the future queen of Vantok. We might as well enjoy our current situation as it is. We’ll have plenty of time later to play the cool and proper couple. Shall we retire to the bed, Your Majesty, or would you rather remain here?”

  Either way, reflected Azarak, this day had improved markedly since his early morning meetings with Ferguson and Toranim. He could get used to this and, given his future wife’s energetic and playful disposition, there was no reason to believe it would end once he placed a crown upon her brow. He relaxed and let her assume control.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: THE PORTAL OF HAVENHAM

  Consciousness crept back more quickly than Sorial would have preferred. As the blackness faded, the pain returned. Pain - his new friend and constant companion. A glance at his maimed right foot revealed the blackened stumps of his two smallest toes, sliced off with precision by Langashin, then cauterized by a torch to limit the bleeding. At the moment, the man was standing over him, his expression unreadable beneath his mask of whiskers as he toyed with the implement that had done the damage, caressing the blade with a finger. Langashin was experienced at this trade. He understood how to impart maximum discomfort without endangering the victim’s life.