Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3) (5 page)

“That’s what you get for never learning how to read, stableboy. It’s shameful that I didn’t try to teach you when we were young. But I suppose it never occurred to me that there were people who didn’t know their letters.”

“A prejudice of your privileged upbringing, I suppose. At least I ain’t got nothing against mice.”

“I’ve gotten friendly with them, thank you. There are quite a few of them on this island. I’ve recruited a water snake to keep them away. He enjoys snacking on them.”

“When do you think you’ll be able to communicate again?”

“Not for a while unless there’s an emergency. I’ll wait till I reach the mainland.”

“We may be on the move by then. I don’t know how much longer we can stay here. Once Justin leaves Vantok, we’ll have to strike this camp and head toward the mountains. So if you try and get nothing, it means the water is in skins headed for The Broken Crags.”

“We’ll do the best we can. I love you, stableboy.”

“I love you too.”

That night, shortly after dusk, Sorial gathered up his strands of courage - strange that he should need them for a task that most people would consider more pleasurable than daunting - and headed for the queen’s tent. As before, he was admitted without hesitation or question. This time, Myselene was less informally attired. Dressed in riding clothes, she was standing over the table, scrutinizing a map by the cool light of the glowstones.

“Alicia’s been in contact.” There seemed little point in providing a lengthy explanation.

Myselene nodded, turning her attention away from the depiction of Obis she had been studying. She casually sat on the furs that comprised her bedding and pulled off one boot then the other. “How is she?”

Sorial felt his mouth going dry. Myselene was a lovely woman. He knew his body, if not his mind, would revel in that. Despite Alicia’s reluctant assent, he felt like he was committing a betrayal.

“She’s well. It’ll take her at least another week, perhaps more, to reach her destination. She gave her… approval… for what you asked, although she wasn’t happy about it.”

“Nor would I expect her to be. But she and I had a long talk before she left and I was able to allay her most serious concerns. This is not a long-term arrangement. Once it’s served its purpose and a child has been conceived, it will be abandoned. The child will never be acknowledged publically or privately as yours. As far as the world is concerned, it will be Azarak’s son or daughter. Of course, in your ongoing role as the Wizard of Vantok, you will have access to him or her as a tutor and adviser, but it will never be paternal contact.”

While speaking, Myselene divested herself of her clothing in a straightforward manner. Now completely naked, she lay back on the furs and motioned Sorial forward. “Alicia is far away and the gods are no more. We can enjoy this moment for what it is without ascribing to it a greater importance.”

* * *

Later, they lay together on the furs, naked and sweating and bathed in the eerie light of the glowstones. They were on their backs, close to each other but not quite touching. Sorial’s rock limbs, which he had detached before their coupling, lay to the side, ready to be claimed when he rose and departed - something that had to happen before dawn lest tongues begin wagging. It was important that what they did in here was kept a secret from all except Chancellor Gorton. Their sex, while energetic, had been nearly silent. Myselene had bit her lip to avoid crying out. As far as the rest of the camp was concerned, they were planning how magic would be involved in the upcoming campaign.

Sorial didn’t know how he felt about what they had done. His body had no compunctions but his mind was torn. Making love to Myselene was a completely different experience from making love to Alicia. During the act, he tried to imagine it was his wife lying beneath him but the reality of the situation defeated him. They were two different people - they sounded different, felt different, had curves in different places, and moved differently. Imagination was not a refuge. He had to accept what he was doing. While he was inside her, it proved easy. In the aftermath, that was no longer the case.

“We need to repeat this as often as opportunity allows,” said Myselene, her voice drowsy. They were both exhausted, craving sleep. “We can stop when the sickness begins and my woman’s blood no longer flows. That should be long before Alicia returns. She’s lucky to have you. You’re a good lover.”

Sorial lifted himself to a sitting position and looked down at Myselene. Her hair was pleasantly disarrayed but he was surprised to recognize that there were tears shining in her dark eyes. Emotionally, this had been hard on her as well. He had the right of refusal; she didn’t. If he had said no, she would have been forced to move on to someone else. Looking at her - momentarily a fragile girl who had lost her husband less than two weeks ago and was now bedding someone else - he understood why Alicia had agreed and why she had urged that he be gentle with Myselene.

“Am I your first bed partner other than Azarak?”

“Yes. He took my virginity and I haven’t been with another man. As a child, I was almost raped by my brother but my father learned what was happening from a maid and intervened. It’s not that he cared whether Grushik despoiled me or not except such a thing would make me a poor candidate for a high marriage. When I came to Vantok, I had never known a man but had been taught all the ways to please men by one of Syre’s best courtesans. Practicing with carrots - it all seemed so ludicrous at the time. But putting those lessons into practice with Azarak was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.”

“Did you love him?” Sorial had spent much time around the royal couple before and after their wedding but he had never been able to qualify how they felt about one another. The relationship between Azarak and Myselene seemed like a curious mix of affection and detachment.

“I’ve asked myself that question many times. I wish I had a clear answer. In Obis, we almost never use the word ‘love.’ It doesn’t exist. Friendship, loyalty, passion, lust, responsibility… but not love. Marriage, even among the lowest classes, is never about love. It’s about advantage. So when I came to Vantok to court a king, I wasn’t looking to love or be loved. I was seeking to better my position as a lesser princess. Did I love Azarak the night he took my virginity? No. Did I love him the day we married? No. Did I love him the day he died?” Here, she paused. When she spoke again, there was a tremor in her voice. “Yes. But I didn’t realize it until the moment I knew he was gone.

“It will be difficult for you, Sorial, to watch your son or daughter being raised as the child of another. Imagine, though, how difficult it will be for me to know that the boy or girl I’m raising is not Azarak’s offspring. That, in truth, I have nothing of him left except his title. His line is dead. But we must pretend to see it continue. People in Obis would see that as an act of loyalty and necessity. I prefer to think of it as an act of love.”

* * *

Sorial was a
very
dangerous man. Justin would never again underestimate him. As he reflected on the progression of his campaign, the most evident blemish, and the one with the greatest capacity to haunt him in the future, had been his inability to bring down the young Lord of Earth. In fact, an argument could be made that Sorial had bested him at every opportunity. Ariel, the efreet, and one djinn had fallen before him as a result of skill, luck, or a combination of both. His latest victory, which Justin had observed from a corner of the djinn’s mind, had been meticulously executed. Sorial was no longer a callow novice uncertain in his power. He might not yet have achieved full mastery of the deeper aspects of magic, but he was coming dangerously close to the point where he might be able to triumph in a straight one-on-one conflict.

The loss of one djinn, although regrettable, wasn’t crippling. With ten of the fire creatures and a dragon to enhance the puissance of an ever-growing army, Justin didn’t fear defeat. His success at the Battle of Vantok had inflated his confidence. Basingham would offer little resistance. Once he arrived there, he expected Sorial to be long gone; it made little sense for The Lord of Earth to risk his life defending a city that couldn’t be saved. There was an undeniable streak of nobility in the boy but he wasn’t stupid.

Of less concern was Alicia who, to this point, had shown little capability beyond the obvious. Even her attack at the ford, which had claimed many lives, had been one of brute force. Justin had lost fewer men that he might have had he faced one with skill and experience. Her most invidious contribution to the war had been her participation in Sorial’s earth-trap - something Justin had been working to disperse with the help of the dragon’s breath. The key was to bake the ground. That didn’t make it completely safe but it could be trodden upon with some security as long as too much weight wasn’t placed on the hardened crust.

Justin had decided to give the lords and ladies of Basingham a week to bathe in anxiety before he gathered his army and led the way to the northwest. His current plan was to keep his humans in reserve and let the djinn and dragon commit the mass destruction necessary to peel open the city, but it would be comforting to have seven-thousand men in waiting. Their number, which had been gradually increasing with the trickle of arriving visitors from the local towns and villages, would swell after Basingham. He needed an army at least twice its current size by the time he arrived at Obis. Justin wasn’t sure how realistic that was but he certainly couldn’t afford to lose soldiers in pointless skirmishes between here and there.

The Lord of Fire glanced up at the sound of the main door to the throne room opening. Into the vast chamber strode Duke Yarbin, the city’s temporary chancellor. Yarbin claimed to have been a member of King Azarak’s council until his recent resignation. By his account, he had cheered the arrival of the invaders because they meant an end to the “old, corrupt” regime. Justin trusted him as little as he trusted any traitor, but he needed someone with a sound understanding of the city to handle its day-to-day running until he selected a permanent ruler. Yarbin also had a ruthless streak - a quality that would be needed to deal with disruptions in Vantok after Justin departed with nearly the entirety of his army. Unstable elements were quelled at the moment but they would become bold once The Lord of Fire was no longer physically occupying the throne.

“Your Majesty,” said Yarbin, executing a florid bow. “A message just arrived from Basingham by bird. It comes from an Ambassador Uthgarb who claims to speak for ‘a concerned majority of the citizenry.’”

The name was familiar. Justin strained his memory. He remembered an Uthgarb from his youth: an odious, obese courtier who had delighted in making life miserable for those of a lesser rank while playing the toady to more highly placed individuals. Justin recalled only occasional contact with the man but the whiff of dislike reached across the decades.

“What does Uthgarb have to say?”

“According to his missive, he can, upon your arrival, deliver to you in chains the wizard Sorial, Queen Myselene, and King Durth.”

Justin raised an eyebrow. Someone like Uthgarb, who wasn’t a gambler by nature, wouldn’t make such a claim unless he was reasonably certain he could fulfill his promise. It would be a death sentence to renege. Although Justin held the man in disdain, he wouldn’t reject such an offer. “What does the ambassador think to gain in return for this gift, aside from his life?”

“He asks two boons, Your Majesty.  First, that you spare Basingham the core of your wrath. Second, that you appoint him steward when you are not in residence.”

Justin’s smile was thin. So, Uthgarb thought to be king. It didn’t surprise him. Big ambitions for a big man. Well, there was no harm in making a promise now. He could always rescind it in the future if the ambassador proved to be incompetent or inconvenient. At this point, Justin was willing to chance anything to eliminate Sorial. But he wouldn’t rely on Uthgarb’s success. He found it unlikely that the fat man would divine a way to capture a wizard.

“Send back the bird with my response.  I will
consider
Uthgarb’s requests, but he must provide all three to me as prisoners - alive and in generally good condition - upon my arrival. Either he gives them to me or I’ll take his head in payment for dealing falsely. He has two weeks before my army arrives at Basingham’s gates.”

CHAPTER FIVE: THE CUP OF WOE

It was the darkest hour of the night, long after the crescent moon had set, yet Sorial couldn’t sleep. The glowstones in Myselene’s tent had been covered by sackcloth to mute their light and there was nothing to be seen in the blackness. Next to him on the furs, the queen lay in peaceful repose, her chest rising and falling in concert with her soft snores. One hand rested on Sorial’s bare chest. His flesh was cool; hers was warm.

He knew he should leave. He was here to fulfill a specific function, not to provide Myselene with a pillow companion for the entire night. He saw the trap - it was all-too-easy for this to become more than it was, especially when what awaited him on the other end was an empty bedroll. On this, their fourth time together, he had entered the queen’s tent the way he planned to leave - through the ground. It reduced the possibility that others would mark his coming and going. When it came time for Myselene to give birth, there could be no whispers about the child’s parentage - the kind of doubt that would result from Vantok’s Wizard spending nights with the queen while his wife was away.

Sorial let his mind slip into a state of reverie and directed his consciousness into the ground upon which he rested, gently probing, honing his senses. He could feel Myselene’s presence with his mind as well as his body. She was warm and vital; she might lack the talent for magic, but there was little doubt her element was fire. Stretching further, he felt all the souls of Vantok’s refugee camp and the nervous citizenry of Basingham. Their anxiety was a palpable thing. The men and women of the city tried to pretend that all was normal but they fooled no one, least of all themselves. It no longer seemed impossible that their mighty walls could be reduced to rubble and their proud militia routed in battle; the ragtag remnants of Vantok’s populace was too weighty a balance of evidence to ignore.

Sorial’s mind spread out, sifting through the earth, allowing it to carry his thoughts farther and farther away from the immediate environs. He bypassed Vantok, giving Justin’s new seat of power a wide berth. His “visit” had taken The Lord of Fire by surprise; there would now be wards designed to ensnare him if he approached from below in either mind or body. If Sorial wanted to return to Vantok, he would have to do it like everyone else: on foot, in a wagon, or on horseback.

Sorial expanded his reach, plunging beneath the oceans that bordered the continent to the east and west. He was searching for a single speck of energy, one life in a vast confluence of many… and then he found her: Alicia. What surprised Sorial was how easily he located her even though she was surrounded by water and not in contact with the ocean bed. She was many, many days’ travel away; even at maximum speed with the aid of his rock wyrm, it would take him a week to reach her. But he could sense her as powerfully as if she was sheathed in earth. And that’s when he recognized the truth that had thus far eluded him. In a sense, she
was
surrounded by earth because, even though she was encased in the sea, there was dirt in that water, just as there was dust in the air surrounding him, within the bodies of men, and even in fire as the fuel was reduced to ash. Dirt was everywhere, even if only in small quantities, and Sorial was its master.

It was a stunning - if strangely obvious - recognition and Sorial was embarrassed it had taken him this long to realize it. He didn’t need to bring a djinn crashing to the earth in order to destroy it. The only thing required was to make a bridge to it using airborne earth. He could identify Alicia even though she was nearly half a world away by the unique imprint she left on the specks of earth floating in the sea. Suddenly, previous self-imposed restrictions fell away. Lying next to Myselene in the dark, he made the most important discovery about his abilities since his early days in The Forbidden Lands.

As if sensing his excitement, Myselene stirred. Her fingers danced across his chest. “What is it?” she asked, her voice drunk with sleep.

“I understand. Finally.” He realized the words would make no sense to his sleeping partner, but he had to say them out loud. More than ever, he wished Alicia was here.
She
would understand. More importantly, she would benefit. What was true of earth was true of water. Anywhere there was a droplet of it, she could make use of that. They had been thinking in gross quantities, not minute ones. That had been their mistake. Magic was about controlling particles; Sorial had already exhibited that on some level by the method he had devised to manipulate large quantities of earth.

He gazed into the darkness around him, concentrated on the motes of dust in the air, and suddenly he could see. The vision wasn’t like during the day, but it was sight: grainy and without color and black in those few places where there was no dirt. He looked down and saw his own sweaty, naked body with its missing arm and leg. Next to him, Myselene was similarly unclothed and slick with perspiration. He drank in the sight of her, exulting in this new discovery. He suddenly felt more alive than ever. Although the arousal that surged within him was non-sexual in nature, it was manifested in a sexual manner, the only way his body could translate it. His blood pumped. His breathing quickened. He became so hard it was almost painful.

Something in Sorial’s tone had caused the queen to slip free from the gossamer bonds of her slumber. She sat up next to him. “Understand what?” she asked. The hand that had been on his chest slid down to rest between his legs. She uttered a small sound of surprise at what she discovered there.

“Magic. I understand the truth of it. What it really means to be The Lord of Earth.”

“And you came to that realization by fucking me?”

Sorial laughed. “I suppose I did.” Would he have experienced the same revelation if he had never embarked on this child-conceiving endeavor? Eventually, probably, but perhaps not this soon. Sleeping with Myselene had made him yearn for Alicia in a way that might not have been the case had he been alone in his tent. And searching for his wife had opened his eyes and his mind.

“Is it enough to help us?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘helping.’ It means I can be more effective using magic. I’ll be able to do things I couldn’t do before. But it doesn’t mean I can singlehandedly defeat Justin’s army, or even Justin himself. In the end, experience beats knowledge.”
But at least I won’t be a clueless target
.

“Can you tell if there’s a baby in my belly?”

Sorial extended his vision into the queen’s body. It was surprising how much dirt existed inside a person as a matter of course. The blood was clean, at least insofar as Sorial could determine, but it was everywhere else, sometimes in small quantities and sometimes in larger ones. Even though he could see
more
, however, he wasn’t able to understand what he was seeing. His understanding of the human body was rudimentary at best. If there was a baby, he couldn’t discern it.

“Nothing,” he said at last. “That doesn’t mean there ain’t one, just that I don’t see it. At this stage, it could be too small for me to notice.”

Myselene nodded. Her expression was unreadable. “All right. Since we’re both awake and you’re… ready… let’s try again. No sense wasting a good opportunity.”

* * *

“When we head north, she’ll be a liability,” said Overcommander Carannan, reiterating a point he had heard from both Warburm and Rexall. “We’re running short of the drug. More can be made, but there seems to be little point. She’s a dead weight, and a dangerous one at that. Widow’s Pass is treacherous enough without bearing the burden of an unconscious wizard who could wake up and wreak havoc at any time. As far as I’m concerned, keeping her alive is an unwarranted risk.”

“We have to assume that if we kill her now, Justin will know the moment it happens - he’s probably linked to her in some way - and he’s in a better position to get someone to a portal than we are,” said Sorial.

The council’s deliberation, which had begun with discussions about how and when to strike the camp and the logistics of moving thousands of refugees through Widow’s Pass and on the road to Obis, stalled when Myselene inquired about what to do with Ariel.

“The sensible strategy,” said Ferguson, who had thus far said little. “Is to send the Lady Lavella, our most promising candidate, to the Ibitsal portal to see whether she’s sensitive. If she is, then we can bring Ariel to the portal, execute her on the spot, and allow the new Lady of Air to take her place. Any other approach leaves open the possibility that Justin could claim the position.  For all we know, he may have a candidate in Havenham awaiting word of Ariel’s death. If that’s the case, our window may be no more than a matter of minutes.”

Myselene turned to Sorial. “If we send Lady Lavella to Ibitsal, would it be possible for you to provide a means of instantaneous communication between her and the men guarding Ariel?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty. Given time, I might be able to figure out how to use earth for communication but it would require experimentation and practice, and it’s probably pointless since I won’t be with the main body of the army.” It had already been decided that Sorial would accompany Myselene on a more direct route to Obis - one he would facilitate through a portion of The Broken Crags where there was currently no pass.

“What you propose, Vice Chancellor, is a dangerous gamble,” said Gorton, casting his shrewd gaze on Ferguson. He admired the former prelate’s cunning and intelligence but didn’t trust him. In his opinion, the man was still playing a game of his own. For the moment, his goal might be the same as the queen’s, but for how long would that be the case?

Ferguson shrugged. “We have choices. None are ideal. We can kill Ariel now, ensuring that Justin loses an ally and we no longer have to cope with the burden of keeping her comatose. The downside is that this will almost certainly give Justin the opportunity to choose the next Lord of Air. Or we can test our candidate and, if she proves viable, make an effort to put into place a plan that will give us a three wizard-to-one advantage.”

“And if the drug fails and Ariel awakens?” persisted Gorton.

“If Ariel regains her ability to use magic while in captivity, there would be death and destruction,” said Sorial. “She’d lash out. But that ain’t likely to happen. Not only have Ariel’s senses been addled for weeks by this drug, but the ebb of her life force is low. It would take time before she’d be able to use her powers and longer before she could be a danger to others. We’d have ample opportunity to kill her before she could mount an attack against us.”

“I’m uneasy about having a hostile wizard accompanying the refugees of Vantok on a journey that will be perilous without her. It would be one thing, Sorial, if you or Alicia was watching over her, but her only supervision will be Warburm and, although you’ve vouched for him…”

“Warburm won’t be her only guardian, Your Majesty. I’ll be there as well,” said Ferguson. For a reason he couldn’t specify, that made Sorial uneasy - to think that the man responsible for Ariel’s existence would be in charge of her ultimate fate. Giving Ferguson any kind of autonomy, especially where magic was concerned, seemed like a bad idea.

“What are the odds that Lady Lavella will be a suitable replacement?” asked Myselene, still weighing her options.

“Moderate. The Overcommander is proof that not everyone of that bloodline is blessed with the talent. There’s no way to tell outside of exposure to the portal. Either she will hear its call or she won’t. Then we’ll know.”

“Are there other candidates?”

“None worth mentioning, at least within this camp. Several possibilities died at Vantok. There’s one I know of in Andel. I’m afraid that if Lady Lavella shows no aptitude for magic, we may be far from locating the next Lord of Air. Wizards are rare, Your Majesty, and locating those with an affinity for a particular element greatly narrows the possibility of success.”

“So we’re faced with an ugly decision. Keep Ariel alive and insensible, hoping she doesn’t develop a resistance to the drug or find some way to break free of its hold, in the belief that Lady Lavella proves to be her successor. Or kill her now, safeguarding the survivors of Vantok, while ceding the selection of the next Lord of Air to Justin. Not a choice I relish making.”

“A choice you don’t have the
authority
to make,” said Sorial calmly, stating his position with characteristic bluntness. Eyes wide, Myselene glared at him but Sorial held her gaze. Gorton and Carannan’s faces expressed shock; Ferguson’s features were as impassive as ever, although there was something speculative about the way his lips pursed. “When I accepted the position as Vantok’s wizard, it was made clear that my duty was to serve the city and its ruler using magic
as I see fit
. This is a matter of magic. Ariel is also technically my prisoner. The final determination is mine to make. It ain’t a responsibility I relish, but it’s mine.”

“You go too far, Your Magus.” There was ice in the queen’s voice to match the cold fury in her eyes.

Ferguson interjected his opinion. “On the contrary, Your Majesty. Lord Sorial is correct. King Azarak invested him with full authority to oversee any and all matters related to magic and its implementation. He was given autonomy and his decisions are not technically subject to oversight by The Crown.”