The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia

by James Berardinelli

  The vice chancellor stood quietly to the side while his liege, dressed in midnight black plate armor, contemplated the nude corpse of his wife. She lay in a state of quiet repose, awaiting the flames that would consume her. As to the state of her immortal soul… Gorton was no theologian but he believed the rumors of the gods’ demise. His agents had told him that most of the highly placed priests, including His Eminence Prelate Ferguson of Vantok, accepted it as truth. So what became of a person after death? That was a great unknown. Gorton suspected he wouldn’t find out until the day when his own heart seized up - hopefully not for a great while. No point pondering it now since there was nothing in his power that could avert or change it. When his time came, would there be anyone to gaze down on him and touch a torch to his bier?

  Gorton stole a glance at Princess Myselene, who stood to his immediate right - one of the four children of Selene and Rangarak. Her face was a mask of seriousness… and something else. Determination? Had she cried? There were no signs of tears. Her eyes weren’t red and puffy like those of her sisters. She was calm and composed, perhaps even more so than her father. A remarkable girl. She could be so useful in his empire building plans. Ultimately far more useful than Rangarak.

  The king cleared his throat as if to begin the eulogy. No words of praise were forthcoming, however. “You say something,” he barked at Gorton. The request was expected. Rangarak was no orator and he was bound to deflect the duty even in such intimate surroundings. Better not to speak at all than to have his words deemed weak and insubstantial, even if the primary audience was his family. The vice chancellor stepped forward, adopting what he believed to be an appropriately respectful pose as he uttered the short speech he had prepared for this occasion.

  “What can I say about Queen Selene except that she was a ray of sunshine in a city with many dark days? Obis is a cold, hard place where only the hardiest of men and women make their homes; we are unused to beauty and grace such as what she brought here. Since the founding of this great city, we’ve seen countless queens but few have been as readily accepted and truly beloved as Selene. She melted the heart of a king not known to bow to sentiment and gave to him four fine children, one of whom will eventually sit upon the throne. But the ways of the gods are mysterious and they, in their wisdom, have elected to take her from us. Let’s cherish our memories of her as we consign her spirit to the gods and her mortal remains to the purifying element of fire.”

  Gorton stepped away from the bier, rejoining the small group of mourners. As Rangarak took the lighted torch from the captain of Selene’s guard, Myselene moved swiftly and silently to her father’s side.

  “Father, may I do it?”

  A remarkable child indeed. One day, she will be a great woman.

  Carefully, Gorton watched the exchange between father and favored daughter. To rebuke or not to rebuke? Should the princess be punished or rewarded? Gorton had already made decisions about Myselene. How much effort would be involved in convincing Rangarak?

  Without a word, the king handed the torch to his daughter. Once in possession of it, her face solemn, she touched the flame to the kindling surrounding her mother then stepped back. As if by magic, the conflagration leapt to life, tongues of fire licking hungrily at the wood comprising Queen Selene’s final bed.

  Gorton didn’t nod but he might have. The king understood even if he was reluctant to admit it aloud.

  Several days later, Myselene was the topic of conversation when Rangarak and his chief advisor retired to the king’s private study to discuss the path forward in the wake of Selene’s death.

  “You know she should be the next ruler of Obis, Your Majesty,” said Gorton. It was an understatement to say he had misgivings about the presumptive heir, Grushik. The man was a troll - an intellectually inferior bully who embraced cruelty in all its forms. Gorton dreaded the day when he ascended to the throne of Obis - a moment he would do his best to thwart if he was alive to see it. Rangarak was by no means a great leader but he was good enough. Grushik was another matter altogether. The most compelling reason for Gorton to jealously guard the Iron King’s well-being was to delay the disaster that would follow the next coronation.

  “Ain’t so much a matter of what should be as what will be. The hard truth is she can’t piss standing up. When it comes to the succession, that’s all that matters to some. Even if I named her, there’s no telling what the council will do when my ashes have been sent into the sky.”

  There was truth to that. The king was free to name whoever he desired as his successor. Upon his death, however, that choice could only ascend to the throne if the appointment was ratified by the council. In a rigidly patriarchal society like Obis, a woman would likely be rejected. But there were other paths to the crown.

  “She would make a better ruler than Grushik. You know that as well as I do, Your Majesty. He’s not fit to sit on your throne.” It was a delicate matter. Tread carefully here. This is his son.

  “Not today, he’s not.” Rangarak at least acknowledged that much. “But I don’t plan to be following Selene anytime soon. By the time I’m ready to meet the gods, he’ll have learned.”

  Wishful thinking. He will never learn. He hasn’t the temperament and he is ruled by base impulses that will never be curbed. “And Myselene?”

  “You’re fond of her.”

  No reason to deny it. “I am. She’s as smart as anyone I’ve tutored and has her mother’s looks. In another seven years, she’s going to be a force to be reckoned with.” One question he had never dared ask aloud was whether Myselene was truly Rangarak’s daughter. Her appearance betrayed only that Selene was her mother. Her father might as easily have been a long-time lover as a king. Selene had known, he was sure, but it was a secret she had taken to her grave. And since Rangarak didn’t doubt, he would never do or say anything to question Myselene’s parentage. But the possibility lingered deep in the recesses of Gorton’s mind that the bright, inquisitive girl might be more to him than a favored pupil.

  “Oh, she’ll be queen, Vice Chancellor. But not in Obis.”

  “You’re still thinking of Vantok?” Gorton was pleased that his suggestion had taken root in the king’s mind. He had hinted on more than one occasion that Prince Azarak might be the perfect match for Myselene. His father, King Azanar, was hunting for prospective brides.

  “The match makes sense. He’s the only ruler-to-be of marriageable age who ain’t already betrothed or otherwise promised.”

  They spoke for a while about the potential advantages and difficulties of the marriage, not the least of which was Azanar’s dislike of Rangarak, when the king surprised him by changing the subject. “My captain of the guard tells me you apprehended a would-be assassin.”

  Gorton had attempted to keep the incident from reaching the king’s ears, but too many guards knew about it and, apparently, one had spoken despite the strict gag order.

  “It’s not that unusual an occurrence. Hardly a week goes by when there’s not at least one attempt on your life. Most are the work of amateurs. The only difference in this case is that the assassin was armed with poison not knives. His intention, it would seem, was to dose your food or drink with it. Not the most effective way to kill you since it was a fast-acting poison that would have disabled your taster long before it got to your plate, and that would presuppose the unlikely occurrence of a stranger getting anywhere close to where the vittles and brew prepared. No, Your Majesty, your life was never in danger.”

  “I applaud your vigilance. When I heard about the failed poisoning plot, however, it caused me to wonder whether my queen’s death might not have been the result of natural causes.”

  Shit!

  “She was in her prime and as hearty as any woman of the North. She birthed four children without difficulty and rarely took to her bed because of an illness. Her death concerns me not only because I’ve lost my wife and the mother of my children but because it may point to a hidden danger close to the throne. If Selene was pois
oned, it was done by someone in her intimate circle - and that could pose a threat to me if the killer remains undiscovered.”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “I know the general populace is awash in conspiracy theories, but you may be taking speculation too far if you heed even the most rational of them,” suggested Gorton. He kept his face calm and voice even. Although the circumstances weren’t ideal, the vice chancellor had recognized this to have been a possibility and he had planned for it. He was in no danger. “The healers, after all, certified that it was a natural death. If I was to bring them here…”

  “To do so, Vice Chancellor, you would have to dig up their bones, presuming the scavengers haven’t gnawed them already. Every healer who failed the queen was hanged and buried yesterday.” Buried, not burned - a mark of disrespect for all but the lowliest peasants.

  Gorton was surprised - not only that the king would go so far with loyal functionaries but that he would do so without consultation. Could this be an indication of mistrust? He experienced a sudden and unwelcome twinge of concern about the foundation of his position.

  “This is a security matter, Vice Chancellor. I expect you to look into it and accomplish something more satisfactory than the men attending my wife did.” The pronouncement may not have been intended as a threat but, to the suddenly hyper-vigilant Gorton, it sounded too much like one for comfort. Rangarak wouldn’t rest until he had a culprit. Gorton would give him one.

  In the end, diverting the trail leading to him wasn’t difficult. The two men with firsthand knowledge of Gorton’s purchase of the poison - the agent who had procured it and the seller - met with unfortunate accidents. After that, it was just a matter of concocting a plausible story identifying some poor dupe as the “true” assassin. In knitting the fabrication, Gorton was exacting, accounting for every detail, no matter how small. The king must be satisfied. There could be no room for doubt. Only when everything was finalized did he go to Rangarak.

  “The scheme ran deeper than I expected, Your Majesty. The financing undoubtedly came from Andel, although I couldn’t trace anything directly to the Crown. There’s little doubt, however, that the local leader was Ambassador Kreig. Whether he was acting on his own or under orders from…”

  “Andel wouldn’t be so stupid as to risk war, even if the chance of being caught was minimal and Kreig has always been a climber. I’m sure he did this on his own, hoping that if it succeeded, he could take credit and if it failed he could distance himself from any fallout.”

  Gorton nodded. “That’s my assessment. Kreig employed only two confederates. Both were perfectly placed to carry out their assignments. I regret to inform you, Your Majesty, that one was Queen Selene’s own taster. Her previous taster died under seemingly normal circumstances two seasons ago, although we must now look into that death. Kreig was able to place his own man in the position after he was put forward as an ‘excellent and faithful’ servant of Duke Callifan. The duke was handsomely compensated for his complicity. We found a satchel of Adel golds hidden in the straw of his mattress.”

  “Who was in charge of the vetting process?”

  “The chancellor.” Blaming Fogram made sense. The man was senile and wouldn’t remember whether the interview had happened or not. Of course, the supposed killer was innocent, but that didn’t matter. Dead men told no tales. Nor did dead dukes or ambassadors. Bodies aplenty. Politics as usual in Obis.

  “I want Kreig, Callifan, and the taster brought to the throne room in shackles for this afternoon’s audience. Let them see what it means to conspire to kill a queen.”

  “Sadly, Your Majesty, that won’t be possible. Severan, the taster, slipped on a wet spot on a staircase yesterday. He broke his neck in the resulting fall. Duke Callifan apparently choked on something in his dinner last night and died as a result. And Ambassador Kreig has vanished. His household and staff seem bewildered about his absence but a smart bettor would place a wager on him never being seen again.”

  “You’ve gone too far, Vice Chancellor.”

  “On the contrary, Your Majesty. I’ve done what my position requires - investigate wrongdoing and act in the best interests of the city. The miscreants in this case needed to be punished but what good would it serve to play out the spectacle of a public trial? Rumors about an assassination are already quieting - why resurrect them? And why court open hostility, and perhaps war, with Andel?”

  “Obis doesn’t fear war, especially when wronged.”

  “True, but the economic consequences of crushing Andel could be ruinous. That city has too little to offer to be worth the trouble. And, if we are weakened, the other cities might seek to take advantage. The vultures would circle, Your Majesty, perhaps from as far distant as Vantok.”

  “You’ve shown them too much mercy, Vice Chancellor.”

  Gorton’s carefully modulated tone hinted at regret. “I wish it could have been otherwise, Your Majesty. Truly I do. But there are times when the needs of diplomacy can’t be denied. The queen’s assassins are in their graves. Let that be an end to the matter.”

  “As you say, Vice Chancellor. But this will always be in my thoughts when I negotiate with Andel or her ambassadors.”

  Fortunately, that was the last time the matter of Queen Selene’s murder was mentioned, although relations between Obis and Andel frosted over in the wake of Gorton’s discovery of the “plot.” Rangarak had all itinerant citizens from Andel expelled from the city’s limits and refused to allow another ambassador to be appointed. Gorton used back channels with his contacts in the western city to calm things and maintain some level of diplomatic interaction. He made assurances to the king of Andel that, since there was no indication of a conspiracy involving anyone other than Ambassador Kreig and his confederates, normal relations would resume once Rangarak was able to view the matter from a more detached perspective. He didn’t venture a guess at when that might be. In reality, it had less to do with the Iron King’s perspective than when Gorton believed it would propitious to unblock the impasse.

  If Rangarak’s trust in him had been waning, it was quickly restored to its previous level. In fact, if anything, the king began to confide in him more closely. Gorton relished the situation. The power behind the throne - sweeter than wearing any crown.

  One day following a tutoring session, Princess Myselene asked for a moment of his time. As always, Gorton was pleased to give her special attention. Every day brought greater awareness and maturity. She was wise beyond her years. He was proud of her but a little saddened by the weight of the burden she would soon bear. Becoming a queen was no easy thing and her road to achieving that goal would force her to make compromises and concessions no ordinary girl would have to allow.

  “My father says I’ll be leaving Obis when I reach Maturity.”

  “It’s likely, Your Highness.” Whatever happened, whether the marriage with Azarak proved possible or was closed as a result of Azanar’s intransigence, Myselene’s future wasn’t in Obis. If she remained here, she would be doomed to a dead-end marriage with a duke or baron and Gorton’s carefully constructed plans to put her onto the throne would wither. For her, the path to taking the crown from her twisted brother lay through another city. Vantok was the best option but there were four others.

  “He said I’m to become queen of one of the other cities. How will that be?”

  “In the usual way. A marriage will be arranged. You’ll wed either a sitting king or a king-in-waiting.” Or, in the worst case, an opportunist who will seize the throne when circumstances favor him.

  “My father has one in mind?”

  “How much do you know of the other cities and their rulers?”

  “Only what you’ve taught me.”

  “You know where Vantok is?”

  “In the Forbidden Lands.”

  Gorton chuckled. It was a more accurate geographical representation of the continent’s southernmost city than many in Obis would give. “Not quite. North of there by a bit. Vantok’s next k
ing, Prince Azarak, is unmarried. And, because he’s past his Maturity, his father and everyone else at court are seeking to find him a bride. It is your father’s intention for you to be that bride.”

  “Aren’t I a little young?”

  Gorton nodded. “It represents a difficulty but not one an insurmountable one.” Azanar’s dislike of Rangarak would be the true sticking point. “And if a match with Azarak proves logistically impractical, there are other options. Aging, widowed kings are easily enticed by the thought of a young, fertile wife, especially one with such strong connections to Obis.”

  “Is Azarak handsome?”

  The vice chancellor smiled fondly. Under all of this, she’s still a little girl hoping for romance in a marriage. How terrible that this fantasy must be dispelled. “Rumor claims it to be so. I haven’t seen him since he was a boy, little older than you. But if he is to be your bed-mate, I doubt you’ll be disappointed.”

  “I’ll do whatever’s necessary, Vice Chancellor.” She said the words bravely and with resolution. You don’t know what you’re offering, Your Highness, but you can be sure your father and I will hold you to those words.

  As the seasons passed, Rangarak settled into his role as a widower with paramours aplenty at night and campaigns against bandits to pursue by day. Gorton continued to build his already considerable network of spies and assassins, expanding his recruitment net far beyond The Broken Crags. By the Summer following Selene’s death, he had established a web of contacts in Vantok. They informed him that a match between Myselene and Azarak, although politically advantageous for both cities, was unlikely. Azanar’s health had begun to fail and there was deep concern to see Azarak wed and with an heir before he took the throne. Myselene was still too young to bear children and a five year wait was unlikely. That didn’t disturb Gorton. He had always assumed Myselene would be Azarak’s second wife, not his first. In several years’ time, he would have amassed enough power and influence across the continent to make that possible. Queens died. There was no reason that couldn’t happen in Vantok as easily as in Obis.