The Last Whisper of the Gods (30 page)

“Ho, travelers!” called one of the men, the tallest and burliest of them. His voice was gravelly and heavily accented. His gap-toothed grin resulted in a more sinister than reassuring appearance. Like his fellows, he was dressed in ill-fitting leather jerkins and leggings with hard boots that were apparently city-made. His head, like his chin and upper lip, was shaved to stubble.

Once the groups closed to within ten feet, they stopped to appraise each other. After a moment, Warburm spoke. “We be men of the north, seeking employment for our swords in the south. I go by the name of Warburm, and these be my companions.” He introduced them one-by-one. They had agreed before leaving Vantok that there was no reason to adopt false identities - their real names wouldn’t carry weight or meaning.

The traders absorbed this information before the spokesman said, “My name is Tawlor and these is Makow, Dathug, and Gurbin. We is free men of the plains who trade with the cities and settlements to the north.”

Thus began what seemed to Sorial a tense and awkward interaction. With Warburm speaking for their side and Tawlor for the traders, they exchanged basic information about the conditions ahead and behind.

Warburm, mixing fact with fiction, embellished the negativity of conditions in Vantok, stating that the heat had led to widespread famine and disease and it was no fit place for a visit, let alone inhabitation. He and his companions had left because an uncertain life in the wilds was preferable to certain discomfort and possible death on the streets of the city. He implied they were guardsmen who had deserted their posts, which would make their desire to quit civilized areas more plausible.

Tawlor said his quartet, an offshoot of a much larger group that was several days behind and unable to move swiftly due to their numbers and the encumbrance of women and children, had traveled from deep in the mountains. Although the heat was brutal this far north, it relented within what city-dwellers referred to as The Forbidden Lands. Water remained plentiful and conditions were no more inhospitable than usual.

Armed with intelligence of indeterminate value, Warburm wished the others fair travel. He and his fellows continued on their way, giving the camp a wide berth to avoid the implication they might be planning an assault or robbery. When they stopped for their mid-afternoon break, Warburm commented about what they had learned.

“This changes a few things if what Tawlor says be true. And if there be a larger group, we'll want to miss that encounter.”

“I’m not sure there are more of them,” said Lamanar. “That claim may have been an attempt to avert a robbery. If they recognized their strength couldn’t match ours, they might have invented a larger group to give us pause if our intentions were hostile.”

“We can’t chance a meeting with a large force of wild men,” declared Warburm. “We got to quit the grasslands immediately and move along the coast. We be getting close to where the terrain’ll become rougher, anyway. And there should be food in the ocean. I for one would welcome a fire-cooked fish after all this dried horse meat and stale grain.”

Traveler’s Fare, as it was euphemistically called, did little more than stave off starvation. Even when mixed with a good swallow of water, which was necessary to wash it down, it did little to banish hunger pangs. A helping or two of real food would do wonders.

“Check our trail behind,” said Warburm to Lamanar. With a nod, the latter man dropped to his haunches and vanished into the grass, returning in the direction from which they had come. Nearly an hour later, with the sun well into its descent toward the horizon, Sorial’s father reappeared.

His expression was severe. “They’re following, but cautiously and at a distance. There are seven of them, so either they acquired reinforcements or there were some hidden. They may simply be shadowing us to ensure we don’t double back and attack them at night. Or...”

“Or they be readying a trap of their own. To those dressed and armed like them, our clothing and weapons would be worth a little risk.”

“Bah!” scoffed Darrin. “Four or seven, it don’t matter. As long as we ain’t taken unawares, we can beat them.”

“Cudgels be crude weapons,” agreed Warburm. “But if they strike home, they’ll crush bone. And those leathers won’t encumber them as they dance around your dirk. We know nothing about how skilled they be at fighting and it’d be foolish to underestimate them. I learned that the hard way in my time as an adventurer. This ain’t a back alley in Vantok where the next watchman be a street away.”

“Do we double back and go after them? I don’t like the thought of having to watch our backs all the way into The Forbidden Lands,” said Brindig.

“An armed confrontation be a last resort. No matter how good the odds - and they ain’t as favorable as we thought - we can’t afford to lose anyone. So we move fast, be vigilant, and hope they ain’t earnest in their pursuit and can’t bring more men to join the chase.”

As they packed up their meager belongings, Warburm pulled Sorial aside for a quick word.

“Lad, adventuring be like this. Eating shit, drinking warm water, never bathing, sleeping on hard ground, and running from men who might want to kill you for your knife, gun, or boots. Given the choice, don’t you think I’d rather be in my inn, baking a few loaves of bread and watering down the ale for the evening crowd? I be here because this trip might save that way of life. I might never set foot in that inn again but if we succeed then someone else will be able to do those things someday. You think I be a hard man, lad, and mebbe that be true. But since the first day I met Ferguson, I seen the importance of all this. Now mebbe you do too?”

Not expecting an answer, Warburm continued, “If things get rough and one or more of us goes down, take your orders from whoever be left. And, if worse comes to worst and none of us looks to make it, you run. Leave us. Save yourself. The four of us be expendable. You ain’t. Go back to Vantok and present yourself to Ferguson.”

It was a sobering admonition, but not entirely unexpected. For Sorial, however, the ultimate challenge might be finding his way home in such a situation. For perhaps the first time, he realized how utterly dependent he now was on Warburm, and it wasn’t a comfortable recognition.

Alicia was becoming an expert at pacing. It was an activity she had perfected since arriving at her temple quarters and, following Sorial’s departure two days ago, it had become her primary means of relieving anxiety. Her mind was as restless as her legs, plotting an escape. Beginning yesterday, her reins had been relaxed, allowing her access to most of the compound. Although she was theoretically permitted to wander unescorted, she recognized that her every move was being observed by concealed eyes. Much of her “freedom” was an illusion. Soon, she hoped, she would be allowed to roam outside the temple. Any opportunity to venture into the city would be welcome and might afford her with an opportunity to break free of her captors and set off in pursuit of Sorial. There were two major obstacles: finding associates who would help - this wasn’t something she could do on her own - and learning where Sorial had gone. He could be anywhere in the world and, with every passing day, he was getting farther away. For her to intercept him and end this foolishness, she would have to act soon. Patiently awaiting optimum circumstances wasn’t an option.

Her first visitor of the day knocked after her morning meal’s remains had been cleared away. She stopped pacing long enough to admit her father, then resumed her traversal of the room’s perimeter. Duke Carannan, by now used to his daughter’s restlessness, seated himself in a chair.

“Have they decided yet?” asked Alicia.

“You’ll be permitted a short, escorted tour just outside the temple grounds tomorrow.”

Alicia frowned. “What about the marketplace?”

“Why would you want to go there?”

“Because it’s alive. Dirty. Loud. Everything it isn’t here. I want to be able to breathe the stink of the city.”

Carannan laughed. “You’ve changed, my dear. At one point, you would have done everything possible to avoid that stink.”

“That was before you pushed me into the arms of a stableboy who doesn’t bathe often enough.”

“Am I correct in assuming you have a destination in mind other than the marketplace?”

Alicia didn’t respond.

“You know that even if you visit the stable, he won’t be there. We haven’t hidden anything from you. He left two days ago with Warburm. It’s not his stable anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time, if you think about it.”

“Still... It would be comforting to see it again. I can’t explain why, but it would quiet my heart. Sometimes, it seems like all the time I spent with him was a dream, that none of it was real. Standing on the floor of that stable, retching from the smell, and seeing all the mice will remind me.”

“You can’t live in the past, Alicia. There’s no reason either you or Sorial should ever set foot in a stable again.”

“Until he completes his task, all I have with him is the past. And you know as well as I do there’s no guarantee he’ll ever return. He may die on this journey.” Logic argued that was by far the most likely outcome. Her stableboy coming back as a wizard...it didn’t seem possible. Not in the real world. She wondered whether, in his heart of hearts, Sorial believed it could happen. Or was he acting out of desperation? Their farewell meeting hadn’t clarified that. She knew what he had
said
. But it was easy to say things you didn’t believe.

“I understand. I’ll see what can be done, but I can’t promise. The prelate makes those determinations and sentiment doesn’t come into his way of thinking.”

Alicia paused. She knew what the answer would be, but she couldn’t help asking the question. “Any word?”

“No. It’s much too early and if we heard something at this stage, it wouldn’t be good. It may be weeks or even a full season.”

“Or never.”

Carannan nodded. “Or never. I’m not going to protect you from the grim possibility Sorial won’t return. But you’ve decided to wallow in pessimism. Have a little faith.”

“Faith? Look what happened when people placed their faith in the gods. Abandoned and left to fend for themselves. Now you want me to put my faith in men? If it was just a matter of believing Sorial could accomplish something he had control over, I’d have faith. But he’s risking his life on a fool’s errand.”

“Many don’t believe that, including Sorial.”

“What choice does he have? He has to believe, otherwise this journey would be meaningless. I
hate
that I’m being used as the reward to send him to his death.” Her voice broke. She gritted her teeth, willing back the tears.

After taking a deep breath to compose herself, she asked, “Do you know where he’s going?” It was too straightforward a question but her urgency made her careless.

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Impulsive as you are, Alicia, that information would be dangerous for you to have. All I can tell you is it’s a well-guarded secret known only to a select few.”

Alicia hoped it wasn’t as well-guarded as her father believed it to be.

“So you’ll try to get my cage expanded?”

“I’ll make the request. As I said, the decision isn’t mine.”

“What exactly are they afraid of? That I’ll run away?”

Carannan regarded her evenly. “That’s one thing. But the farther away Sorial is, the less real that fear becomes.”

“So eventually I’ll be given my freedom?”

“I said
one thing
. There are other considerations. Your safety, for example. Sorial has enemies who’ve already tried to kill him. It’s public knowledge you’re betrothed to the future wizard of Vantok...”

“...who everyone believes to be a myth. I’m pitied far and wide.”

“Who everyone believes to be a myth except the men who tried to kill Sorial. There are people who know, or at least suspect, what he represents. Your connection to him makes you a target. What more tragic end could there be than for Sorial to endure a long journey, a grueling experience at the portal, and return home to find that his future bride has been murdered in his absence? The bars on your cage aren’t exclusively to keep you in. They’re to keep others out.”

From there, the conversation degenerated into small talk until, after having spent the better part of an hour with his daughter, Carannan took his leave. As he departed, Alicia wondered whether this was the last time she would see him. It all depended on how fast circumstances allowed her plans to develop and how soon he planned his next visit. She knew it was hard for him to come here, but he did it out of duty and affection. Probably not guilt, however. Like everyone else in his secret society, Carannan believed wholeheartedly in what he had done. He might regret the pain it was causing his daughter and the danger in which it placed the life of a young man he liked, but he accepted those things as justified.

It was early afternoon, the hottest part of the day, when Alicia emerged from her chambers to look for Vagrum, who was always nearby. Her request was terse: “Find Rexall and ask him to come here. He and I haven’t talked since Sorial left and it’s time for us to have a frank discussion.”

With Rexall in tow, Vagrum returned about two hours later. Sorial’s friend appeared irate and let it be known that he was less than thrilled about being taken away from what he was doing for a trek across the city to the temple.

“What can your most humble and obedient servant do for you?” he purred, executing a mocking bow. “I’m deeply sorry I wasn’t able to attend to your needs more quickly, but your pet brute had some trouble finding me.”

Vagrum, who was standing just outside the door waiting to be dismissed, didn’t look pleased at the comment. Alicia waved him away.

“You could use some lessons in etiquette,” she said. “That was the sloppiest bow I’ve seen since Sorial tried something similar - although his was in earnest.”

“I learned my courtly manners from him. I tried teaching him letters in exchange, but he was hopeless.”

Alicia was surprised. “You can read and write?”

“Don’t act so shocked, Milady. Not all those bred outside mansions are illiterate.”

“I just thought...”

“No matter. The only reason I’m here is because I made certain promises to Sorial. But don’t presume too much. I ain’t available to fulfill your every whim.”

Alicia scowled. Rexall, like Sorial, often brought out the worst in her. It wasn’t surprising, she supposed, since they were alike in many areas that mattered, although Rexall was more brazen and less solicitous. But, in order for her fledgling plan to have any chance of success, she needed him. She judged that honeyed words, demure looks, and honesty were the best ways to earn his cooperation.

“Let’s walk in the courtyard. Even with Sorial gone, there are still too many eyes and ears in here.”

As stuffy as it was within the temple, it was hotter outside. Nevertheless, with the brutality of high Summer past, a walk around the barren remains of a previously fertile garden was feasible. Besides, the air in the courtyard might be warmer but it was unpolluted by the ever-present odor of incense that filled the temple. Alicia had once adored the pungent aroma but her time in Ferguson’s care had transformed her affection into dislike.

“Have you heard anything from him?” she asked, her voice a whisper, her lips hardly moving.

Rexall mimicked her. “Since he left, you mean? Not a word. And I don’t expect to learn anything till after it’s over, one way or the other. Even if he could send a message, his keepers wouldn’t let him. And, considering your importance in the overall scheme of things, you’re likely to hear something before me.”

“Only if it’s good news. Bad news will be kept from me for as long as possible. They view me as biddable only for as long as they have marriage to Sorial as an enticement.”

“‘Biddable? You?”

“Obedience is the price of freedom.”

“Aye,” agreed Rexall, “But you’ve hardly been docile long enough for them to trust you. The whole reason we’re mumbling to each other is because you think there’s an army of priests watching your every move. That ain’t freedom.”

“Do you think Sorial’s going to survive this?”

Rexall considered, unsure what she wanted to hear. Was she looking for reassurance that, at the end of all this, she would have a shot at the happily-ever-after ending? Or was she asking him to validate her pessimistic view that Sorial was being escorted to his execution?

“No,” he eventually said. “But it don’t matter what I think. Everyone who’s smarter than me believes he’s going to find this magical portal, do whatever he needs to do there, and return to Vantok as the first wizard in a thousand years. Forgive my skepticism, but I ain’t never believed in wizards even when my mum assured me they was once real.”

“Will you help me, then?”

“Help you what?”

“Stop Sorial. Save him.”

Rexall chuckled. “Ain’t going to happen. He wasn’t carted away as a prisoner. He went of his own free will because the reward for success was more appealing to him than the price of failure. The only way he’d give that up is if he could have you now.”

“Which is what I propose to give him,” she said.

“By running away with half the temple watching you? And tracking Sorial down when you have no idea where he’s going? And getting him away from Warburm and his armed escort? Sorial has a better chance of becoming high wizard of the land than you have of doing even half of that.”

Alicia felt her anger rising. “I’m not a dolt and I know the obstacles, but they’re not as insurmountable as you think. I have a plan.”

“Good to know you ain’t going into this blind.”

“But I need help. Your help.”

“I was wondering when we’d get to that part,” said Rexall. “Consider this, Milady. If I was to work with you in an attempted escape and it failed, they’d march you back to this room and post a guard outside until Ferguson decides it’s safe to give you a little freedom. As for me, my head would decorate a pike somewhere. What could you possibly offer that would encourage me to take that kind of risk? Even if I got away, I’d have to spend the rest of my life on the run.”

“Have you forgotten this is for Sorial? Your supposed friend. The one you just admitted is on a journey to his death.”

“I’m making a point. There are limits to what I’m willing to sacrifice, and my life is beyond them. It’s up to you to arrange your escape from your captors. After that, I’ll give whatever aid I can.”

Alicia considered. It would require changes to the framework of what she had planned but it was workable. “It’s hard...” she began.

“Not yet, but if you do more than a quick feel and some inexpert grinding, it’ll get there,” he said with a leer.

Alicia’s scowl showed that she found the remark neither charming nor amusing, although it was typical of Rexall. When she next spoke, she covered her lips with her hands and outlined the beginnings of her plot. There were details that needed to be clarified but she thought it had a reasonable chance of success... provided Rexall provided the aid she needed.

He was less than impressed. “That’s it? That’s your bid for freedom? The only thing that will accomplish is to get you locked in this room and your accomplices sent to visit the headsman.”

Alicia glared at him. Inwardly, although she was hurt by his bluntness, this was what she had hoped for from him - an honest appraisal and help with a workable solution. She couldn’t let him know that, of course.