“There really isn’t another way, is there?” asked Myselene.
Gorton shook his head. “You could spend decades recruiting mercenaries and outcasts and not get a fifth of the men you would have at your disposal wearing your father’s crown. With Obis’ twenty thousand, you could crush The Lord of Fire’s army, assuming the magical component could be attenuated, and march south as Vantok’s liberator.”
“This is a short-term game, Your Majesty,” interjected Ferguson. “The Lord of Fire moves quickly because he must. His time is running out. His powers will begin to wane if they haven’t already. The life of a wizard burns brightly but doesn’t last long. Justin is past his fortieth birthday. Only a handful of wizards in recorded history have lived that long. This isn’t a situation when patience is prudent.”
“Basingham and Earlford are lost,” said Gorton. “But we’ve known that from the beginning even if King Durth didn’t. As Vantok went, so goes the rest of the South. Any resistance put up by the two remaining cities will be crushed even if our wizards decide to fight. Once The Lord of Fire controls the South, perhaps he will wait out Winter…”
Ferguson interrupted. “He won’t. Tactically, that might make sense. Only a fool or someone pressed by urgency would willingly fight a Winter war in the North. Justin is no fool but he can’t chance losing fifteen weeks waiting for the seasons to change. Once he’s taken Earlford, he’ll strike at Syre. Then, with the weather at its most bitter, he’ll turn his attention to Obis. We all know that if your father’s city falls, Andel’s capitulation will be a formality. The key to everything is Obis.”
“Can you guess his end-game?” asked the queen.
“He seeks control of the source of magic. To obtain that, he believes it necessary to command all the cities and, undoubtedly, to head a united quartet of wizards. Thwarting him means depriving him of those goals.”
“But we have three of the four wizards in this camp.”
“Having don’t mean holding, Your Majesty,” said Sorial. “Justin’s skill in magic makes him a formidable adversary - one Alicia and I together can’t overcome given the current gap in magical aptitude. As for Ariel - we may have her under our control but she ain’t gonna fight for us. Keeping her here merely deprives Justin of her aid. Once we’ve found her replacement…”
“The Lady Lavella,” said Ferguson.
“What?”
“You asked me for the name of a likely replacement for Ariel. I give you the Lady Lavella.”
“My sister was the previous Wizard’s Bride,” said Carannan. “Of course she’d be a candidate.”
Ferguson simply nodded.
A thought occurred to Sorial. “This was all planned before. My brother Braddock - you intended to bring him to Vantok and marry him to Lavella. With Alicia and me, you’re just repeating what you weren’t able to do twenty years ago. Earth and Water instead of Fire and Air.”
“I don’t know if Lavella has a magical affinity. My plans never advanced enough to make testing her a necessity. Her lineage hints at it but she must be brought near a portal to be sure. There are other names but none as promising. The House Darmania has engaged in frequent inbreeding to keep the line as strong as possible.” He turned to Carannan. “Your father, Your Grace, is one of the few ‘outsiders’ allowed into the mix to keep the blood from becoming too stale. I would have considered you a likely candidate for Earth if we didn’t know from a childhood trip near Ibitsal that you’re ignorant to the portal’s call.”
“So we’ll test Lady Lavella at the Ibitsal portal when we go to the North,” said Myselene. “Then we can determine what to do with the current Lady of Air.” There was no decision to be made; if Lavella proved suitable, Ariel would be executed.
“I have to leave as soon as possible for the Yu’Tar Library,” said Alicia. The suddenness of her assertion startled everyone including Sorial. He had known his wife intended to visit the overseas bastion of wizardly knowledge but didn’t expect it to be so soon. She met his surprised expression with impeccable logic. “There’s no avoiding a confrontation with Justin. Sooner or later, we’re going to be forced into it. I don’t know whether the library contains secrets that’ll give us a better chance against him or greater insight into the goal he’s chasing but if there’s a chance, we have to take it. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for ‘a better time.’”
Sorial didn’t like it. He hated being parted from her, especially over long distances for an extended period of time. But there was no way he could justify accompanying her. He was needed here to act in his capacity as Vantok’s wizard and his illiteracy meant that he couldn’t help his wife with this quest. She was uniquely qualified to go.
“I have to speak with you before you leave,” said Myselene, her voice subdued. “I have a… request… to make of you.”
“I’m your loyal subject, Your Majesty.” There was formality and a little wariness in Alicia’s response. Sorial looked into her eyes and saw a flash of sadness and resignation. She knew what was going to be asked of her and didn’t like it. In their short period in the refugee camp, Alicia and Myselene had spent much time together; they had apparently discussed this, whatever it was.
“I’ll go tomorrow. I want to spend one more night with my husband before leaving.” There was no mistaking her emphasis on those two words.
* * *
King Durth was the perfect picture of a kindly grandfather with his broad, smiling face, snow-white hair, and seemingly cheerful disposition. It was all an act, of course. Durth was shrewd and recognized that the more senile or besotted people thought him to be, the easier it was to get what he wanted from them. Myselene, however, was onto his act. Years ago, her father had warned her there was no more devious and duplicitous ruler in the human kingdoms than Durth and Myselene kept that in mind in all her dealings with him.
They met alone in a small chamber, although the queen wasn’t naïve enough to believe their words were between only the two of them. The most privy rooms in every palace typically had several spies listening.
“So you offer me one wizard where you have two. I thought they were married and came as a package.” The smile on Durth’s lips didn’t reach his cool green eyes.
“The Lady Alicia is departing to engage in some research on ways we might be better able to stop The Lord of Fire’s advance. She fought in the Battle of Vantok and proved somewhat… ineffectual. The Lord Sorial, however, was able to defeat the enemy’s most powerful magical ally. I offer his services.”
“Protected by two wizards and an army of about 8000, Vantok fell in less than a day. Explain if you can how things will be different here, with only one wizard and an army less than half the size of the one defending your city?”
“You have walls. Those will count for a great deal when it comes to defending Basingham.” It was a weak response. The truth was that Myselene didn’t see any way it could be different here. That had been the crux of her argument with Ambassador Uthgarb when trying to procure military assistance in the days leading up to Justin’s invasion. She had informed the ambassador that if The Lord of Fire wasn’t stopped at Vantok, nothing would prevent him from claiming the entire South. Her opinion hadn’t changed. If anything, the ease with which Vantok had fallen confirmed that belief.
“Walls can be brought down. My reports of the Battle of Vantok mention a dragon. I don’t know whether or not to believe that but there have been enough strange things for me not to discount it entirely. And if there is a dragon, I doubt Basingham’s walls will be able to withstand it. So I ask you again: how can my city be saved?”
Myselene said nothing.
“As I thought. Ambassador Uthgarb and several of my other advisors believe I should treat with the enemy: seek reasonable terms and surrender to him. Handing you over would undoubtedly be part of the deal. As long as you live, Justin’s position on the throne of Vantok is insecure and the fact that he hasn’t destroyed the city means he intends to rule it. Tell me, Your Maje
sty, are the rumors of your pregnancy true?”
“They are,” lied Myselene.
“All the more reason Justin needs you under his control, or dead.”
“But you see a danger in that course.”
“You’re perceptive. I’m not like King Azarak. The nobility that afflicted him and led to his death hasn’t settled in my bones. Don’t misunderstand: I care about my people. But I don’t intend to be a martyr. The moment I surrender Basingham to The Lord of Fire, my life is forfeit. Oh, it won’t be part of the agreement. Justin will claim that I can rule as long as I submit to him but he’ll eliminate me at the first opportunity. I would in his position and I have no doubt he’s at least as ruthless as I am - probably more. So I’m not inclined to surrender to The Lord of Fire unless there’s no alternative.”
“It seems inevitable that, no matter what you do, The Lord of Fire will take Basingham.”
“My city is lost,” admitted Durth. “The Lord of Fire was born here and, even if we capitulate, he’ll grind us under his heel. What concerns me most is safeguarding my person and assuring my future. To that end, I have a simple proposal.”
Myselene knew what was coming but she kept her expression neutral.
“Do you plan to challenge for the throne of Obis?”
“My chancellor advises me to do so.”
For the first time during the conversation, Durth’s smile slipped. “Come now, Your Majesty! Don’t bandy words with me. Do you intend to take your father’s crown?”
“It’s likely,” admitted Myselene.
“Then here’s my proposal. In exchange for my promise not to hand you and your unborn heir over to The Lord of Fire regardless of the consequences of refusal to Basingham, I require that you provide me a promise of sanctuary at Obis once you have the throne. Furthermore, as long as I live, I’m to be recognized by your government as the rightful king of Basingham regardless of who actually wears the crown.”
“You’d have me make promises for a city I don’t hold?”
Durth’s smile had returned. “If you should fail in your bid to seek the throne of Obis, I’ll have to seek an accommodation elsewhere. It’s a worthwhile gamble. Do we have an agreement?”
At the very least, this made it less likely that Durth would confine her for use as a bargaining chip with Justin. A pragmatist, he recognized that his days as Basingham’s king were numbered while The Lord of Fire survived. From that perspective, the agreement made sense for him: hole up in the strongest human habitation, hope Justin could be thwarted, then use the alliance with Obis to help him retake Basingham. “Very well,” said the queen. “We have an agreement. Will any of the invisible ears listening spread word of this to parties who wouldn’t be pleased?”
Durth’s smile widened. “For this room, the only ones listening are sworn to secrecy on an oath of personal service. You may be assured word of what we have discussed won’t circulate. Now, let’s talk about the role Lord Sorial may play in the upcoming hostilities that now appear certain to erupt between my fair city and the invader to the south.”
* * *
Although the sun was shining brightly, it was dim within the close confines of the covered wagon where Ariel was being kept. It took Sorial’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the lower level of light. This was the first time he had visited his sister since her departure from Vantok. She looked much the same: emaciated, desiccated, and far older than her actual age. Her scarred and pox-riddled appearance was more that of a corpse than a living, breathing wizard.
“She be awake,” said Warburm from where he was watching from just outside the flap to the back of the wagon. The big man looked different in the boiled leather armor he had acquired somewhere along the way. He was no longer the obese, boisterous innkeeper who had raised Sorial from childhood to the cusp of being a man. Over the years, his hair had thinned out and gone gray. The trip to The Forbidden Lands had reduced his enormous girth and his few seasons in The Wayfarer’s Comfort since his return hadn’t been long enough for the fat to reassert itself. His appearance was more like that of the great adventurer he had once been than the popular man behind the bar who never ran dry of stories or watered-down ale.
As if in response to Warburm’s voice, Ariel’s eyes fluttered open. Sorial had asked that her next dosing of the drug be delayed. He wanted to speak with her although he was uncertain whether there was anything she would, or could, tell him. The danger was that when her mind and memory became sharp enough for her to respond to his questions, she might then be able to use her magic. That couldn’t be permitted. Ferguson had argued vociferously against allowing Ariel to regain any semblance of consciousness but she was Sorial’s personal prisoner and his decisions regarding her were final, as was his responsibility for them.
Ariel tried without success to focus her rheumy eyes. Sorial reached out and took one of her skeletal hands in his. The flesh was cold and clammy, skin on bone. It was amazing that she was still alive, but as aggressively as magic could eat away at the body, it helped life to cling to what little was left.
“Getting daring, I see,” she said. The voice was as brittle as dry leaves being crushed underfoot. It was so faint that Sorial had to bend close to her mouth to hear her.
“I’m guessing it’ll take a period of recovery before you’ll be able to start working magic.” Or at least that’s what he was hoping.
“A long period. The way I feel now, I couldn’t even conjure a thin breeze. Even if I could concentrate, there’s no stamina left. This body’s finished. Has been for a long time but I didn’t want to admit it. Kill me and get it over with. It would be a kindness.”
“You’ll be pleased to know that your Lord of Fire won his first battle. Vantok has fallen.” Warburm gave Sorial a sharp look when he told Ariel this but he saw no reason to keep the information from her.
“Doesn’t much matter anymore, at least to me. I’m just a placeholder till the next Lord or Lady of Air can be found. I guess I’ve had a good run - everyone thought I died about twenty years ago.”
“Would you be willing to talk about his long-term plans?”
“There’s nothing I could tell you that you don’t already know. Justin didn’t let me in on his strategies. All he told me was that he intended to start his sweep across the continent with Vantok. From there, it’s pretty evident where his path will take him.”
“A Winter war in the North?”
Ariel managed a shrug; it was a brittle gesture. “He’s the Lord of Fire. He can keep his men warm enough that they won’t freeze to death. Climate isn’t a concern for him. Would have been even less if he still had me.”
“Did he ever talk about the Otherverse?”
“Every wizard talks about the Otherverse at one time or another. He mentioned it in passing. Some idle speculation about what it might be like to control the raw power rather than the filtered variant. Justin thinks it’s the filtering that causes the degeneration experienced by wizards - a control put in place by the gods to limit us.”
“No plans about it?”
“No. He might have them. Justin has an abundance of schemes and plots I wasn’t privy to, and he’s trusted me less recently since he learned how I mishandled you. But he never discussed anything specific related to the Otherverse with me. Now, are you going to kill me or am I to continue in this state of muddled consciousness and long dreams?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay alive for at least a little longer. Warburm will still be here to keep you company.”
“Nice for us both, I’m sure. Don’t wait too long, little brother. The longer you keep me around, the greater the chance that something will go amiss. And if I somehow regain my powers, this captivity isn’t something I’ll remember fondly. I made the mistake of not killing you when I had the chance. My advice is that you not return the favor. I know your weakness and you can be sure I’ll go after her first. If you’re going to play Ferguson’s games, you’d better have a spine of iron and a heart of sto
ne. Maybe as The Lord of Earth, you have those things, but I doubt it. You love your little wizard bride too much and that love will be your downfall.”
Sorial waited until Warburm had administered Ariel’s next dosage of the drug before departing. He wandered the camp aimlessly for a while, testing out his new leg and pondering his sister’s words. She had been unhelpful on the subjects of Justin’s plans and the Otherverse; if he was to learn more about them, it would have to be directly from The Lord of Fire. But her admonition and threat had unsettled him. True, she was no danger in her current state and, even if she regained the ability to control magic, he wondered whether she could marshal sufficient energy to be a peril. To underestimate her was foolish. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he should kill her immediately. But Sorial wasn’t ready to cede a wizard to Justin. He had to get the Lady Lavella to the Ibitsal portal as soon as possible to test her potential. Then perhaps he could finally grant his sister the surcease she desired.
CHAPTER THREE: THE EMISSARY
Intimacy was difficult in a setting like the one in which Sorial and Alicia found themselves. Although they had a small tent to call their own and were isolated in the “command” section of the refugee camp, the circumstances weren’t ideal for more than catching a few hours of fitful sleep. As a result, their coupling was brief and fundamentally unsatisfying. They fumbled and groped and ground against each other in the dark, trying to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible, always aware of the many people passing by outside. Added to that, it was a hot, sticky night in the height of Summer; the air within the tent was unbearably close with the flap closed.
Once Sorial had climaxed, they separated and lay side-by-side on their backs, listening to each other’s breathing over the general hubbub of the camp. Sorial reached out his right hand to clasp her left. They were both aware of how short their time together was. There was no guarantee their future paths would converge once she set off on her journey to the Yu’Tar library. Acknowledging the fragility of what they had kept them both awake, desperately clinging to these last hours.
Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) Page 3