Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3)

by Berardinelli, James

  “You need to figure out a way to pad that leg,” said Alicia once it was apparent neither of them was going to get much sleep. “I have bruises up and down my thigh from it.”

  Sorial chuckled. Sex for the first time with the stone replacement had been awkward. There were ways to make it more flexible and mobile, but he couldn’t do anything about its hardness. After all, rock was rock. “Wait till you see what I have planned for the arm.” There was no reason to fuse a stake of stone into his left shoulder unless it could serve a purpose but he had conceived a situation in which such an appendage could be useful. The next time he came up against a djinn, he didn’t intend to sacrifice any of his flesh.

  “Just make sure you keep this intact,” she reached between his legs. After saying that, she became strangely subdued. Even in the dark, Sorial could sense her change in mood.

  “We’ll get through this,” he said, trying to be encouraging. “We’re both wizards after all.”

  She let out a long, loud sigh. “Every time we separate, you lose some part of your body. I’m wondering how much will be left when I get back.” Sorial couldn’t tell whether it was gallows humor or a serious concern. Maybe both.

  “I hate duty,” she said finally. She sounded close to tears. “I know we have it much better than so many in this camp, but… Damn Justin for starting this war. Damn Ferguson for getting people thinking about wizards’ bloodlines. And damn Azarak for dying.”

  Sorial didn’t think she was making much sense. Rambling, trying to find blame for their current situation in a universe where the gods could no longer be held culpable.

  He turned her face toward him, leaned close, and gently kissed her on the forehead then the lips. It was a long, lingering caress. The action seemed to calm or reassure her. When she next spoke, her voice was stronger. “There’s a way we can stay in touch, I think. I can ‘imprint’ some water in a way that will enable me to connect with it by concentrating. Spread out in a shallow basin, we can use it as a conduit for communication. Distance shouldn’t be an issue. I wish I’d thought of this before you went off to face the efreet.”

  “I could probably do something similar with earth.” Sorial considered how it might be possible. No immediate solution came to mind.

  “No doubt. When you killed the efreet, I felt your pain through the ground. It reverberated from rock into water, so I believe you could find a way to communicate over long distances. The same may be true of Justin. Any time there’s a fire, we have to assume he could be watching.”

  “That’s a disconcerting thought.” The kind of tactical advantage that could impart… Maybe it explained why the invading army had bypassed the complex trap Sorial and Alicia had devised. They had assumed betrayal by a spy or informant, but maybe Justin had been able to divine their intentions by gazing through a torch or lantern.

  “Using water is clumsy and if it’s spilled, we’d lose the connection, but at least it provides a way to keep in contact. And if I learn something, I can tell you immediately rather than waiting until I return.”

  They lapsed into silence after that, content simply to lie close to one another for the remainder of the night. When the first rays of dawn arrived to drive back the darkness, it was too soon for either of them. But they had no choice other than to face the new day. Hating duty didn’t dispel their responsibilities to it.

  By noon, Sorial was on his own. Before departing, Alicia attended a lengthy private meeting with the queen from which she emerged grim-faced. Then she and Sorial set up the “mirror” and tested its efficacy. Myselene granted them an empty tent in which to locate the shallow ceramic basin filled to the brim with ordinary well water. The connection Alicia established made it special. It would be watched over every minute of every day so Sorial could be notified when she initiated contact.

  No announcement was made about Alicia’s departure; only the council members and a few others knew she was going. Consequently, she was able to slip away without ceremony. Sorial accompanied her to a sheltered cove north of the city’s environs where they kissed and embraced before she divested herself of her clothing and entered the water. She vanished beneath the surface following directions provided by Ferguson. She felt it would be easy to locate the distant continent; finding the structure might be more challenging, although Ferguson had said it was near the coast. How long the trip would take was an open question. By ship, transportation required a half-season. Alicia didn’t know how that would translate to her mode of travel, but Sorial was prepared to be without her for a long spell. It might be Winter before her return, if she returned at all.

  Sorial wandered through the camp, nodding when someone greeted him but paying little attention to the activities around him. People were doing their best to make this a temporary home, perhaps unaware of how short-lived their time here would be. Once the Lord of Fire’s army began moving, the camp would have to be abandoned. How far in the future was that? Maybe three or four weeks, perhaps less. How many, he wondered, would follow Myselene into the North and how many would remain behind, tired of running away, and try to live under Justin’s rule? Sorial the stableboy would have chosen the latter. Sorial the wizard had no choice in the matter. His fate was set and it would likely end in a direct confrontation with Justin - a confrontation he wasn’t currently equipped to win. All his hopes rested with Alicia’s journey bearing fruit and it frustrated him that there was nothing he could do to aid her. As an illiterate boy spearing straw with a pitchfork, he could never have imagined that learning his letters might hold the key to his future prosperity. He was determined that, if he and Alicia survived this war, he would learn reading and writing.

  His path took him to the tent where her mirror was situated. As the queen had promised, a guard was on duty, although Sorial started with surprise when he recognized Rexall, his childhood friend and the current head of Myselene’s personal retinue. Their relationship, once a solid friendship, had deteriorated after Sorial learned of Rexall’s covert activities performed on Ferguson’s behalf, but the ice was thawing. Rexall had been earnest in his attempts to regain Sorial’s trust and the young wizard was desperate for the companionship of someone willing to be with him for who, not what, he was.

  “Is she of the acid tongue gone?” asked Rexall, his cockeyed smile touching both his lips and green eyes. He was dressed slovenly for a soldier, with his ill-fitting leather breastplate not firmly cinched and his helmet altogether absent, revealing a thick tousle of red hair. Not that anyone was overly concerned about appearance. Many of the surviving eight or nine hundred of Vantok’s militia were worse garbed.

  Sorial grunted. “Next time we see her will be in this mirror.”

  “Any idea how long till she makes contact?”

  “She said she’d check in occasionally so we might hear from her in a few days. The only thing she needs is water and she’ll be surrounded by it for a while.” At least Sorial didn’t have to worry about Alicia being in danger during the sea crossing. She was, after all, mistress of the water and all the creatures in it. The apprehensions experienced by even the most stalwart of ocean-faring ship captains - storms, sea monsters, drowning - didn’t apply to his wife. Even if she became lost or disoriented, she could call on the beasts of the deep to redirect her. The ocean for her was like the underground for him - though it might be dangerous or terrifying to others, he found it serene and comfortable. His concern for Alicia would begin when she emerged from the water to finish the journey in a strange, mostly uncharted land.

  “We can’t reach her?”

  “No. For us, this is just a basin with a few skins of water poured into it. The magic comes from her.” Perhaps he should have worked harder to discern a way by which earth communication was possible. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

  “Are you ready to fight without her?”

  Actually, apart from the confrontation with Ariel, he had yet to fight with her. “I ain’t got no choice, Rex. Justin ain’t gonna to sit at Van
tok much longer. He’s in a hurry. He can’t afford to wait seasons for his army to be restocked. By the time Alicia gets back, the fate of the South will have been determined.”

  “You sound like it already has been.”

  Sorial cast his eyes downward. Aside from Alicia, no one knew him as well as Rexall. “The odds ain’t good. The best hope is that we weaken Justin along the way so when the decisive battle comes, we’ll have a shot at victory. There have only ever been two conflicts of importance and we lost the first one. We’ve got to learn from that and apply those lessons to the second one.”

  “Would it really be that bad to live under Justin’s rule? I mean, I don’t agree with how he’s going about things but ain’t it a worthy goal to unite all the human cities under the control of a quartet of wizards? Ain’t that the kind of thing that would make sense in the absence of the gods?”

  “If that was Justin’s true motivation, I might agree. But he’s after something else. If he fails at the very end or succeeds and unleashes power he ain’t able to control, existence won’t be an option. There ain’t no gods to curb him. Not even he knows what’ll happen once he makes his goal. At the best, we’ll all be praying to Justin. At the worst, we won’t have to worry about praying or doing nothing else.”

  “So that’s why Ferguson ain’t backing him. I wondered about that since it seems like The Lord of Fire’s worldview matches Ferguson’s.”

  “Our vice chancellor understands what’s at stake. It’s also a matter of ego. I can’t see Ferguson bowing before one of his former underlings. He set himself up as the architect of the new order; giving up that position to Justin don’t seem likely.”

  “Ferguson bowing before anyone might seem unlikely but if he’s committed to the cause before all else…”

  “For better or worse, he’s tethered himself to Alicia and me. I think he’s irritated we ain’t as easily manipulated as he expected. Ferguson’s vision of the future was that there would be four wizards following his guidance. I think he’s still pursuing that goal. The likelihood is that he’ll die before things progress that far.”

  “He’s the healthiest 100-year old man I’ve ever seen.”

  Sorial scowled.

  “Do you think Sussaman is small enough for Justin to overlook?”

  Sorial heard the slight catch in Rexall’s voice. “I thought you said she didn’t mean much to you?” He was referring to Shiree, a girl Rexall had avoided marrying during his recent excursion to the North.

  “I never said that. I just don’t want to be shackled to her for the rest of my life. But I’d like to know she’s safe. And maybe see her again some time.”

  “Justin almost certainly knows about Sussaman from his time as Ferguson’s apprentice. I doubt a village that size fits into his plans, though.” Sorial could envision a scenario in which Justin blasted Sussaman out of existence from spite but he didn’t mention that to Rexall.

  “I suppose we’ll be going north soon enough anyway.”

  “We will?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. The queen needs to find a power base and the only one left is Obis. It’s the obvious move.”

  So it was. And if Rexall, who was relatively inexperienced in political matters, recognized that, then so did everyone else across the continent. Including Justin. Especially Justin.

  * * *

  Sorial was tossing and turning in a light sleep when he was interrupted by Overcommander Carannan. “Your Magus, Her Majesty has requested your presence at an emergency war council being held within the city. Apparently, there’s been a development.”

  Sorial dressed quickly and mounted the horse Carannan had brought with him. They set off at a gallop - an indication there was urgency in the mission. At a guess, Sorial imagined Justin had shown his hand. It wasn’t a surprise.

  The council room was larger and more crowded than the small chamber in which King Azarak had conducted his private meetings. In additional to the newly arrived Sorial and Carannan, Vantok was represented by Myselene and Gorton. A large contingent was present from Basingham, including various generals and high-ranking nobles and, of course, King Durth. A hush fell over the room with Sorial’s entrance. Although the wizard had officially been “made available” to help with the defense of Basingham, few in the room had previously seen him face-to-face. He wondered how many of them doubted his powers; worldwide acceptance of the return of magic remained a hope for the future rather than a reality of the present. Many who hadn’t seen Sorial in action doubted his ability to do more than the most basic conjuring tricks.

  “Ah, Your Magus, thank you for attending us.” Durth’s ubiquitous smile beamed at Sorial. Although his ruby red lips turned up, there was ice in his eyes. Sorial recognized that Durth was a different sort of king from Azarak: a serpent rather than a lion.

  “I’m at your disposal, Your Majesty,” said Sorial with a curt bow that was anything but deferential.

  If Durth believed himself slighted, he didn’t show it. “Our advance scout party has reported a single… entity… approaching from the direction of Vantok. It rides the currents of air and, to all appearances, may be one of the djinn we have heard about from the battle.”

  “Can you check?” Myselene made the request of her wizard.

  Sorial nodded then cast his mind into the earth below like a net. He gradually spread it wider and wider, searching for telltale signatures of fire. He found Justin’s with little trouble; he was still in Vantok. He sensed nothing else.

  “If it’s coming, it isn’t in contact with the ground.”

  “If it poses a threat to Basingham, can you stop it?” asked Durth.

  “If there’s only one, I can, but there’s something I’ve got to get from my tent.” Sorial had been preparing for an encounter such as this since Alicia’s departure. Touching the djinn to expel its internal measure of earth would no longer mean exposing himself to its fiery exterior.

  “Do what you must, then meet us outside the main gate. If this creature maintains its current course and isn’t just on a scouting mission, that’s where we’ll meet it.”

  Regardless of its mission or how close it got to the city, Sorial intended to force an engagement, although he didn’t divulge that information to Basingham’s king. Eliminating one djinn now meant there would be one fewer to face in the future. It wasn’t much of a victory but, in the wake of the absolute devastation visited on Vantok’s army by the creatures, any advantage was welcome.

  Using the mount that had conveyed him to the palace, Sorial returned to the refugee camp. After briefly checking to ensure Alicia hadn’t made contact, he returned to his tent. There, awaiting its inaugural use, was the wizard’s new left arm. Hinged at the elbow to allow a degree of mobility, it was designed to simulate an arm in only the most superficial of ways. But if Sorial touched a djinn with it, it would provide him with a magical conduit to its essence without forcing him to endure the agony and loss of tissue he had experienced in his duel with the efreet. To onlookers, the arm would appear to be a clumsy attempt to replace what had been lost, but Sorial knew better.

  Experimentation with his leg had shown that his control over stone allowed him to manage the limb in ways he hadn’t expected. If he concentrated on it, he could cause it to perform in a manner replicating that of a real leg with the flexibility of flesh and muscle and the strength of stone. Unfortunately, when his mind wasn’t focused on the leg, it reverted to an unyielding rod of rock. The arm should perform similarly.

  Not long after, Sorial was comfortably ensconced beneath the earth just outside Basingham’s main gates. From his vantage point, he could track the slow, inexorable approach of the djinn, gliding on air some ten feet above the ground. Even at this distance, his magical senses were alive. Knowing Justin’s signature, he now wondered how he could have mistaken the efreet for The Lord of Fire, but that experience had taught him an important lesson about assumptions and magical deception. Every night, he wondered whether he
could have made a difference at the Battle of Vantok and whether Azarak might be alive today if he had not been duped into leaving.

  A small contingent watched from atop the city’s walls: King Durth and Queen Myselene and their top advisors and generals. Durth’s “commission” to Sorial had been for him to attack only if the djinn displayed hostile or dangerous intentions. But the wizard didn’t take orders from the ruler of Basingham and Myselene hadn’t forbidden him from acting as he saw fit. Regardless of what the djinn’s inclinations might be, Sorial had no intention of allowing it to return to its master. As far as he was concerned, the sacking of Vantok counted as both “hostile” and “dangerous.”

  As it drew closer, shadowed by an advance corps of Basingham’s cavalry whose presence it ignored, the djinn’s form and figure became clear. Of the men on the wall, only Carannan had seen its like before. His expression remained steely, his mind replaying the devastation wrought by this monster and its fellows. Everyone else, Myselene included, displayed varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Gorton’s features were the most composed but even he appeared unnerved. Durth’s fear and horror were impossible to hide.

  Sorial was relieved that, although the djinn resembled the efreet in many ways, it was smaller and less imposing. The creature had the shape and appearance of a gigantic, impossibly muscled man. Its rutilant flesh was wreathed in flames that burned orange with occasional bursts of hotter blue. Its eyes were pits of blackness, a match to the color of its short goatee. The dome of its head was capped not by hair but by a crown of spiky flames. It was a mirror to the image of the djinn pictured in storybooks.

  It drifted toward the wall, adjusting its distance from the ground to come opposite the parapet, arms crossed beneath its breast. It showed no signs of immediate hostility although the blackness of its eyes made its expression impossible to read.