The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (42 page)

“So you decided not to stay in the North?”

“Sussaman’s a nice enough place, I suppose. A little to slow for someone who’s spent his life in a city, though. Truth be told, there was some trouble with a girl. Gets damn cold up there in Winter, so it’s only natural to find a warm bed. Didn’t know I was expected to
marry
her. That’s the way it works up there. You stick your cock in a woman and you’re supposed to be joined to her till one of you drops dead. So I decided to leave before she got pregnant or her father used his ax to enforce the customs. Don’t think I’ll be welcomed back there any time soon.”

That sounded like typical Rexall. It might even be true. Or it might be an excuse to return to the city where he had spent most of his life. Sorial had learned a lot about the allure of home from Alicia and Warburm.

“You’ll find it difficult to collect the balance of your pay from Ferguson. He’s a permanent resident in a palace cell.”

“So I heard. I went to the temple and they told me it was a ‘private arrangement’ that wasn’t binding on them. I have to collect from the prelate. So much for that. At least I got some up front.” He didn’t sound inordinately disappointed.

“How long have you been back?”

“A few days. Long enough to get a sense of things. Everyone seems to have gotten married while I was gone. I’m glad you and your hellcat finally manacled yourselves to one ’nother. And of course you’re an important person now. Second only to the king and queen. Aiden’s with me, by the way.  He wanted to ‘see the world.’ Nearly fell down a crack in Widow’s Pass. Still, he was good company on the road south when he wasn’t lecturing me about the ‘sin of abandoning Shiree.’”

“If you plan to stay in Vantok, you’ll have to enlist. Mandatory conscription unless you’re a farmer. They get temporary dispensations during growing seasons.”

“I can feel the winds of war. When we left - Alicia, Vagrum, Kara, and me - they were a distant breeze. Now, they’re close and strong. Conscription was very unpopular last year. Now there’s a sense it’s necessary. The people on the streets know a battle is coming. They don’t know the details - most seem to think it’s going to be with another city, maybe Obis. But they don’t grumble no more.”

Sorial had spent enough time in taverns and inns to know Rexall’s assessment was correct. Vantok had accepted that war was making its approach even if there was no consensus about the enemy’s identity. The idea of building a strong military was no longer viewed as an irritant but a necessity. And the signs of ‘favor from the gods’ - the unveiling of not one but two wizards and the breaking of the heat bubble - had set off a wave of patriotic fervor unlike anything Sorial had previously experienced.

“Are you staying?”

Rexall shrugged. “That depends on you. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go away. Maybe to Earlford. That’s where my mother came from. Who knows about my father?”

“It’s your life, Rexall. Makes no difference to me one way or another. I got a wife and duties to absorb my time. It’s a big city. I doubt we’ll run into each other by accident.”

“I wanted you to know that I’m truly sorry. Thinking back on it, I can see how it looks. But if I thought there was any doubt at the portal, I wouldn’t have pushed Alicia. I know how much she means to you. In that moment, the best thing for her, the best thing for you, was that the portal awaken her abilities so she wouldn’t be a powerless hostage.”

“You said these things when we talked at Ibitsal.”

“I know. But there’s no other rationale I can offer. I just wanted you to know that I’m your man. If you need me for anything, you can count on me. I owe you and Alicia a debt that has to be paid.”

Sorial considered. He and Rexall could never be what they had once been to each other but Sorial desperately needed
connections
. If not friends, then at least people he was familiar with. And his sudden, forced elevation into the city’s nobility had created barriers of class he hadn’t expected. Peasants no longer felt comfortable around him and nobles divided their time between being obsequious and sniggering behind his back. He needed men like Warburm and Rexall. Untrustworthy in many ways but more straightforward than so many of those he had day-to-day contact with.

“Stay then,” said Sorial. “But there’s a condition: you’ve got to enlist. Not as a reserve but as a full-time soldier. Once you’re settled, see Overcommander Vikon. I’ll have you assigned to the Queen’s personal guard detail. They’re the ones I have the most direct contact with since many served with me in Carannan’s militia. When the time comes, I may need you and I want to know where to find you.”

* * *

Myselene had invited Ambassador Uthgarb to join her for dinner. Knowing the man’s insatiable lust for foods of all sizes, kinds, and flavors, she had assumed he wouldn’t refuse an offer to consume fare prepared in the palace kitchens. She had been correct, and when he had accepted, she knew she had him. Finally, the weeks-long wrangling process with Basingham would end.

Thus far, Myselene had achieved closure with three of the continent’s five other cities. She hadn’t approached Obis for obvious reasons. Even if there was a clear leader, which there wasn’t, she wouldn’t have requested additional troops from the city of her birth. The other two northern cities had politely but firmly declined to provide more than a worthless pledge offering “military advisors” in the event that an attack became imminent. It was clear that Andel and Syre were more concerned about possible aggression from Obis than with the potential of an army sacking the South and proceeding across The Broken Crags. Earlford’s men were already in place. Only Basingham’s commitment was uncertain.

The dickering was less over the number of troops Basingham would provide than the cost per head. The amount Uthgarb was asking, and upon which he was inflexible, would have been ruinous had Vantok’s treasury not been essentially limitless. That wasn’t something Myselene couldn’t reveal; hence, she had to pretend she had a cap and Uthgarb’s demands exceeded it - and that didn’t even include the additional cost of establishing refugee camps for citizens forced to flee Vantok if the battle went poorly.

Myselene, however, was armed with knowledge. Gorton’s agents had infested Basingham’s corrupt court and the king’s privy council. She knew that what the king wanted and what Uthgarb was demanding were different amounts.  King Durth had ordered Uthgarb to accept a significantly lower offer than what the ambassador was requiring - one that was within Myselene’s means. The obvious conclusion was that Uthgarb was playing his own game. Knowing that a royal visit to Basingham was unlikely in the current climate, he believed himself to be dealing from a position of unassailable strength - an idea Myselene intended to disabuse him of.

“This is truly an excellent repast, Your Majesty,” commented Uthgarb, seated across from Myselene in the private royal dining room, the intimate setting where she and Azarak occasionally shared a meal when circumstances permitted.

“I fancy myself to have a sophisticated palate and I can assure you that this food is as good as any I’ve tasted across the continent.”

Myselene wondered if that opinion would linger after the end of what was likely to be a stomach-churning negotiating session. She suspected Uthgarb wouldn’t be dining with her at any time in the near future, if ever. She gently steered their conversation, which had been focused on items of inconsequential gossip, to the matter of the troop and refugee agreement.

“Alas, Your Majesty,” said Uthgarb, tiny bits of fish infusing a spray of spittle. He had abandoned forks and knives in favor of the more expeditious method of shoveling food into his mouth by hand. “My last conversation with my king does not give me hope that better terms can be arranged. You may be sure that I argued mightily on your behalf, but His Majesty King Durth is unmoved. However much he might wish to provide aid to his neighbors to the south, he must first think of his people.”

Myselene wondered if the ambassador was aware of how transparent his greed was. He probably didn’t care. That was about to change.

She popped a grape into her mouth. Unlike her dining companion, who was consuming all manner of dishes placed in front of him, she was selecting from a small platter of freshly picked fruit. “Ambassador Uthgarb, we’ve been at an impasse for weeks now. I’ve told you the maximum Vantok’s royal treasury can afford. It’s an enormous sum, far more than could reasonably be expected even in these extraordinary circumstances. Nearly a half gold per refugee head and three times that per soldier stationed in Vantok’s vicinity. Yet the price you demand hasn’t budged.

“You must think me stupid or naïve, but I’m neither. I was raised in the court of King Rangarak of Obis, and there isn’t a more politically treacherous place than that. I suspect you’re not representing your king’s position openly. Instead of negotiating with me, you’re using Vantok’s dire situation as a means to gain clout with King Durth by achieving a higher price than what he’s expecting.”

“Your Majesty!” exclaimed Uthgarb with a theatrical gasp of horror. “You wrong me! I can assure you...”

Myselene cut him off. “You have a reputation for bluntness, Ambassador, so let me match your candor. My preference would be to request another representative from Basingham to further negotiations but I lack the time for such a request to pass through the necessary channels. You’re aware of this; you know that, at least insofar as this treaty’s concerned, I must negotiate with you. There is, however, a way to speed the process. If you should suffer an untimely death, King Durth will no doubt replace you expeditiously with someone who might be willing to deal in good faith.”

As her words sunk in, Uthgarb stopped eating. His ruddy face began to lose color.

Myselene smiled the smile of someone much older and more devious. “As you’re beginning to suspect, there’s a reason why I invited you to dinner and why I’m not partaking of the meal you’ve been so obviously enjoying. In addition to the many spices used to enhance the taste, several of your courses have been flavored with a unique brand of slow-acting poison. Within the hour, you’ll begin to feel fatigued. Your tongue will swell. Your throat will constrict. By midnight, your breathing will be labored and you’ll be sweating uncontrollably. By morning, we’ll be sending a missive to King Durth explaining that you died suddenly during the night and requesting an immediate replacement.

“There is, of course, an antidote, which I’ll be more than happy to provide once the agreement has been signed. Rest assured, I’m not looking for unreasonable terms. What I offer should be more than enough to satisfy King Durth. But if you choose not to resume negotiations, I’ll be content to let nature take its course.”

By midnight, Myselene had what she wanted. Refugees from Vantok would be accommodated at a camp just outside Basingham for the amount of one-half gold stud per head with a 1000 gold deposit. Basingham would provide a troop of 500 soldiers for the sum of 750 gold studs - half to be paid to the men and the other half into King Durth’s treasury. Payment would be made not in gold but in equivalently valued gemstones, since those were easier for Sorial to extract from the earth.

Uthgarb left the palace immediately after the agreement was signed, pausing only to drink deeply from a goblet that Myselene assured him would “remove any ill effects from the large repast” he had consumed. In truth, the liquid was nothing more than water flavored with stinkweed. Nothing more was needed. He had, in fact, ingested no poison. Although the queen had no compunctions about dosing someone as loathsome as Uthgarb, it would have been a waste of good venom, which was costly. If the same results could be achieved by lies and innuendo... That was a lesson she had learned from her father and, on this occasion, his advice had served her well.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: REMOVING THE STOPPER

“I hate libraries.”

Sorial concealed a smile. Every day for the past two weeks, his wife had voiced that sentiment and every day she went nonetheless. There was nothing he could do to help her in her studies; at times like these, he wondered whether his illiteracy was a blessing or a curse. Sitting in a cavernous room lit by a dozen lanterns and surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of scrolls and tomes wasn’t Sorial’s idea of a profitable day.

“Any progress?” he asked.

Her face contorted into an expression of frustration. “Everything is cryptic and what isn’t cryptic is boring. Azarak probably has three thousand books and twice that number of scrolls in his library and I’m not sure the answer is there. Many of the older documents are unreadable, incomplete, or in languages no longer used. Very little was written by men who understood or practiced magic, so there’s a lot of superstition and supposition to sift through. And an endless supply of irrelevant history.  Did you know that Mandarb VII, His Majesty of Andel seven-hundred years ago, had a boil the size of a grape on his nose?”

They hadn’t talked much about Alicia’s findings in the library, meager though they were. This was her project, propelled by several conversations with Ferguson. Unlike Sorial, who tried to avoid Azarak’s notorious prisoner, Alicia repeatedly sought him out. The prelate apparently suggested areas in the library that would be “helpful,” but was unforthcoming with specifics. After a discussion with him two days ago, Alicia had returned home cursing Ferguson in a most unladylike manner. Even Vagrum, her mentor in the fine art of spewing profanity, had rarely been as graphic.

“Every day, it’s more of the same. Half the cross-referenced volumes aren’t here. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll need to seek out Ferguson’s library across the sea.”

“Anything about how to beat Justin?” Sorial asked a variation of this question every day. He didn’t expect Alicia’s studies to bear much fruit in that regard, but there might be something useful hidden in some old scroll. Their immediate concern remained The Lord of Fire; if they failed to defeat his army, everything else was moot. Arcane knowledge and libraries across the sea would have little meaning if they were dead.

“You know, the wizards of old fought a lot. They occasionally worked together but, for the most part, they were engaged in petty wars over demesnes or pissing contests to determine whose element was stronger. One of those wars in particular sticks in my mind. The account, written by an eyewitness, is very detailed. It’s 1200 years old but I could decipher most of it.

“The conflict between two of the most powerful wizards of that era lasted years and culminated in a final battle between a Lord of Water and a Lord of Fire. Their human troops were evenly matched, perhaps four thousand per side, and their respective magics nullified one another. The writer tells of great waves quenching infernos, bolts of living fire arcing from the sky, balls of water larger than houses raining down on combatants, and so forth. The unfortunate village where this took place was razed and the surrounding countryside blasted. There was nothing left, not even a blade of grass. Just when it appeared this engagement, like so many before it, would end in a stalemate and the war would continue, a lone archer, unseen in the midst of so much chaos, shot his last arrow in the direction of the opposing wizard.  The shaft pierced The Lord of Water through the neck and he died instantly. The Lord of Fire claimed the victory, although he died a few days later from exhaustion.”

“So, the key to killing a wizard in battle is to distract him. Fight him with magic, get his full attention, and then shoot him with an arrow. By that argument, it might be easier for a human to kill a wizard than another wizard. Forget about learning deep magic, just find a good archer.”

“Not the most sophisticated tactical advice, I know, but it works. When Ariel attacked you during your demonstration, it wasn’t much different - an arrow taking down a wizard, although in that case there was magic involved. It’s about using the element of surprise. Hit Justin with something he’s not expecting. If he isn’t prepared for a form of attack, he’s vulnerable to it. The commanders need to understand this. I found a reference to a ‘magical battle manual,’ but, if it exists, Azarak doesn’t have it. Considering the long-winded and contorted ways wizards wrote, I might not be able to uncover much of value in it if I found it.”

“Maybe you should be on the battle council instead of me.”

“There’s something else. Ever heard of the city of Blixin?”

“I’ve heard of the village of Blixin.” It was an isolated hamlet to the northeast, several hundred miles down the coast from Earlford.

“Same place or at least I assume so. Geography’s not an area of expertise for me. A thousand years ago, it was on its way to becoming one of the South’s great cities until something happened to depopulate it. But that’s another story. The one I want to tell you happened earlier. Blixin was at war with the forces of a local warlord. In those days, The Lady of Earth had established her residence there. The city had no more than a token militia; her powers were enough to keep the warlord at bay. But the time came when she grew infirm and the warlord decided to mass his forces and attack. The old wizard, recognizing she no longer possessed the strength to drive him back, called out for aid from Vantok and her good friend, The Lord of Water. He came immediately, arriving only days ahead of the warlord’s army.

“Though the Lady of Earth was dying, she still had enough power to join with The Lord of Water to provide a defense for Blixin. Together, they worked on the land surrounding the city, transforming all of it save for a small patch into a deadly trap for the would-be invaders. Although the terrain looked no different than the fields all around for miles and miles, it was just a thin crust of earth over a deadly slurry of quicksand. Although magic was needed to form and conceal the substance, it could be maintained with minimal attention, much like Ariel’s heat bubble. When the warlord attacked, he lost more than half his men to the trap and, unable to advance across the compromised ground to sack the city, he was forced to retreat. The unstable ground remained after The Lady of Earth’s death; when the warlord made another attempt to take the city a year later, his efforts again proved unsuccessful.”

“So there may be some practical value in those old books after all.”

Alicia smiled. “All we have to do is figure out how to replicate the soft ground. Earth and water used to form a deadly quagmire for the enemy - Overcommander Vikon would love to have that at his disposal. I wouldn’t mention it to anyone until we’re sure we can do it, though. But it doesn’t seem like something that would require deep magic.”

“And The Otherverse?” Sorial knew that was Alicia’s underlying fascination. Since Ferguson had first mentioned it, she had become obsessed with discovering as much about the mysterious realm as possible. Ferguson dispensed crumbs of information and Alicia scoured page after page on a quest for something more substantive. The prelate believed Justin’s eventual goal was related to The Otherverse and Alicia felt that if they could discern The Lord of Fire’s end-game, it might provide them with a clue about how to stop him in the near-term. Sorial wasn’t convinced.

“There are references to it everywhere but, as with everything related to magic, little is clear. Actually, I think one reason why there’s no explanation about it is because it may have once been a commonplace term - so well known by everyone that there was no ambiguity. Just another place we can’t reach, like the sky. Everyone knows it’s there but that doesn’t make it more accessible and no one ever explains about what ‘sky’ is when they write about it. The sky’s the sky. And The Otherverse is The Otherverse. Over the years, once magic disappeared, it lost its importance and people forgot about it. It’s beyond the portals where elemental magic has no meaning. It’s the source of wizards’ power but, whether it was created by the gods or predates them is unclear. Maybe no one ever knew. It must still exist, otherwise wizards couldn’t function. And if Justin’s goal is to access it, and I have no idea how that would be possible, he may be trying to set himself up as a god.”

That was sobering and unwelcome news but it was irrelevant to the current situation. Justin’s goal might be to enter The Otherverse, but he wasn’t there yet or he wouldn’t be preparing for a conventional war. So the question of how to defeat The Lord of Fire in battle remained.

“At least you’re making progress,” said Sorial.

“Progress? It’s like wading through a moat of shit that’s up to your neck. You don’t realize how lucky you are not to be able to read. If we survive this war, I’m going to teach you so you can suffer alongside me, stableboy.”

Someone had once told Sorial that was the truth of marriage: mutual suffering. It might have been Warburm following one of his regular shouting matches with his wife. At the time, it was said tongue-in-cheek but he suspected Alicia was in earnest.

“I’m not going back tomorrow. I need a break.” She had said the same thing yesterday and the day before, but the lure of the library drew her like an insect to a flame. Until she was needed elsewhere, she would continue haunting the palace library.

“How was your day?” asked Alicia, stripping off her clothes as she prepared to join Sorial in bed. He lay in the semi-darkness watching her undress. Her body still fascinated him. The curves and contours of her flesh were familiar but no less delightful for their familiarity. He had wanted her for so long; sometimes he found it hard to believe she was here with him.

“Well?” demanded Alicia, hands on hips. He suspected her anger was feigned. She would have been more annoyed had he
not
been distracted by her nakedness.

“Same thing.” While Alicia’s days were spent in the library, Sorial had been making rounds of the city’s farms. As The Lord of Earth, he had discovered there were things he could do to enrich the parched soil and help the fledgling crops grow to maturity more quickly. Vantok was in desperate need of vegetables and grain. Merchants traveling the road from Basingham arrived in a trickle where there had once been a stream. A combination of bandit activity and rumors about the looming war kept all but the most enterprising caravans away, and those that braved the journey charged outrageous prices for their wares. Vantok needed to become self-sufficient quickly or, even with the program of rationing implemented by the king, people would begin to starve.

Alicia climbed into bed next to him and snuggled close. The single lantern still burning in the room provided enough light from him to see her nose wrinkle in distaste. “You smell like dirt,” she said.

“Dirt’s a healthy smell. It could be worse.”

“I know. I remember what you smelled like when you were in the stables.”

“Let’s see if we can find a way to take your mind off the smell.”

* * *

Azarak’s recognition that his feelings for Myselene ran deeper than mere affection had blindsided him. As he watched her assurance on the throne grow with each passing day, he felt shame that he had ever doubted her loyalty. She had remained steadfast throughout the ordeal with her family, supporting him after the deaths of her father and brother. Yet he wondered whether love and rulership were good bedfellows. After all, he had loved Amenia - loved her to distraction. But, truth be told, he had never respected her much. She had been a lovely ornament to adorn his arm at official dinners and functions and, at least at first, a delightful bedfellow. Myselene, however, was much more. Until this marriage, he had never realized how much the first one had been lacking.

Myselene put down her knife and fork and regarded him oddly across the table at which they were sharing the night’s meal.  She had caught him staring and thought something was amiss.

“The nobles are irate with you,” he commented, taking a bite of the heavily spiced venison. She had commandeered the contents of several wagons that arrived this morning: a large shipment of rice and grain brought in from Earlford. The price she had paid more than satisfied the merchant but Vantok’s richest citizens were unhappy they hadn’t been given a chance to bid on it.

Myselene smiled and shrugged. “They’ll get over it. Many of them have sacks stockpiled in their cellars. We’re going to have to consider requisitioning all private stores.”

“Only as a last resort. The knowledge that Sorial and Alicia are wizards has quelled the most distressing signs of unrest, but it continues to fester. Many among the nobility lobby in secret for my ouster. If we take their grain by force, we’ll face pockets of armed resistance. War is coming; Gorton believes The Lord of Fire will likely begin his march around the first of Summer, if not before. We need unity.”

“If war is coming, all the more reason for the Crown to stockpile as much grain as possible. An army fights better on a full belly than an empty one. The nobles may resist attempts to take their grain but when they see an army of ten thousand approaching from the south, they’ll fall in line.”

Gorton’s latest intelligence had placed The Lord of Fire’s forces at about ten thousand, exceeding Vantok’s army by about two-thousand even factoring in the men gained as a result of Myselene’s dowry and the supplementary squadrons from Basingham and Earlford. That was hardly a decisive advantage, however, especially considering that the men of Vantok would be fighting for their land and homes. It didn’t seem to be an opportune time for the enemy to attack, but the spies’ reports indicated they were preparing to strike camp and march. That concerned Azarak.