“True, but it may be that the best solution is to seek an outside candidate. No doubt there are many accomplished officers who will be included as part of Myselene’s dowry. One of them might be a good fit.”
Toranim raised an eyebrow. “Feathers will be ruffled. Some would see that as a snub.”
“That will be the case no matter who gets promoted. If there are ten candidates for a job, nine will be unhappy. A fresh perspective might be the best thing on the eve of war. Another issue with the current commanders is a lack of urgency. They don’t believe a battle is imminent. They see their duty as curbing lawlessness. Even Vikon is guilty of this. He nods respectfully when I mention the possibility of war, but I can read the lack of conviction in his eyes.
“There’s a divide between what those in privileged positions know and what the common people believe. You and I take it for granted that magic has returned to the world and we’re on the verge of something momentous. The gods are gone and we’re about to suffer through the aftermath of their departure. Ask any peasant and he’ll tell you wizards are figures in children’s tales and we’re likely incurring the wrath of the gods for some infraction. People in general don’t believe the gods are dead - it’s something they can’t comprehend. They prefer to believe we’re reaping the fruits of sin.”
“Things are different in Obis.”
“So Myselene tells me. Part of the problem is that our prelate has been less than forthcoming about the truth with his flock. Although the Temple in Obis has not openly announced the ‘departure’ of the gods, they have worked in subtle ways to encourage people to accept it. Vantok could benefit from an injection of such pragmatism into at least our military if not our entire citizenry.”
“If nothing else, putting a general from Obis in charge of Vantok’s military will reduce complacency.” Toranim was warming to the idea. He agreed with the king; it was worrying how little the Temple had done to prepare the city for the eventuality of life without the gods’ stewardship.
“It’s all about power,” mused Azarak. “And Ferguson’s unwillingness to cede it. He’s enjoyed an unassailable position in secular society since before you or I was born. It’s something he won’t give up easily. So he weaves a web of secrets, withholds information, and makes perception into reality.” A stunning thought occurred to the king. “He’s setting himself up as a god. That’s what this has all been about: creating a personal army of wizards. This was never so much about Vantok and safely leading humankind into a new era. It was about establishing himself as the next deity.”
Toranim couldn’t deny that the facts fit Azarak’s interpretation. “Whatever his plans, they’re unlikely to come to fruition. The prelate has lived to an age far past that at which most men are long dead. Unless his plans include immortality, his period of godhood is likely to be short.”
The more Azarak considered the situation, the more concerned he became. But the key question remained: could he afford a face-to-face confrontation with Ferguson when a potentially greater threat was building? What was the more serious danger? And would resolving the Ferguson issue stabilize the city or send it spiraling into civil war?
“What would you like me to do about Vikon?” asked Toranim, steering Azarak’s attention back to the matter at hand.
“Accept his resignation from the council but don’t move to replace him as overcommander. When we strip his commission from him, I want to have someone ready to step in immediately.”
“With only five members, the council is at minimum capacity. The charter specifies a quorum of five.”
“It’s an advisory body so I’m not overly concerned about how many seats are vacant.”
“An advisory body with great ceremonial importance. Rightly or wrongly, the people look to the council as a means by which kingly excesses can be prevented. Technically, you would be within your rights to disband the council, but it would be a grave political error that your adversaries would capitalize on. Such an action, though technically of little meaning, could result in your overthrow. We need to fill those vacancies as quickly as possible.”
“Let Vikon’s seat remain empty - we can put the new overcommander in it when he’s been named. For one of the other seats, I’d like to appoint a common man. The people will react well to having a direct voice on the council. I’ll leave the choice to you.”
“An excellent idea, Your Majesty. Someone popular as well as... suggestible.”
“As for the third... I want Myselene in that seat. She should have a place on the council and a voice in all discussions. Speaking of her expanding role, have you finished drafting the proclamation naming her as heir?”
Toranim decided to make one last plea for caution on his liege’s part. On two previous occasions, he had urged Azarak not to make what he viewed as a hasty move. Duke Ferwan was a popular man and his replacement by a foreign princess wouldn’t be well-received in many segments of society. Some would see this as the first step of an annexation of Vantok. The king, however, was determined to give his future wife a solid stake in the governance of the city, so Toranim didn’t expect this attempt at persuasion to be any more successful than his previous efforts.
“The proclamation is ready, but I urge you not to sign it or make it public until after the wedding. The general populace is favorably inclined toward her - she is charming and gracious in public - but there’s unease amongst the nobility and military. Until the marriage ceremony, she remains Princess of Obis first and your consort second. Rightly or wrongly, men perceive her as King Rangarak’s mouthpiece. In the event of your untimely death, they believe Vantok will become a satellite of Obis.”
“In the event of my untimely death, the populace will learn that Myselene has a streak of independence that not even her father suspects. Duke Ferwan is a faithful subject and a selfless man. He was an excellent stopgap - a man who stepped into a thankless role to alleviate the succession vacuum - and he’ll be rewarded for his service. But in the event of a crisis, he’s ill-suited to rule the city. Despite her youth, Myselene is as strong a leader as Vantok could hope for in a dark hour.”
“That may be so, Your Majesty, but it won’t sit well with those factions of the nobility whose opposition is becoming increasingly vocal.” In order for Myselene to inherit the throne in the event of the king’s death, he would have to hold it. In the event of a mass defection by Vantok’s nobility, that might not be possible.
“In quieter times, I might have paid more attention to their disapproval, but I won’t sacrifice the readiness of this city to defend itself to political expediency. Myselene will be proclaimed as heir until such time as she is able to produce a child of our union.”
“Is there a child on the way?” It was perhaps an indelicate question but if Myselene was pregnant and this information could be disseminated by way of gossips, it would blunt opposition.
“Not that we’re aware of, but I can assure you we’re working diligently at producing a royal offspring.” Azarak’s response was good-humored, indicating he hadn’t taken offense at the question. He was concerned, however - a fact he hadn’t confided to anyone. Thus far, he had been unable to conceive a child with either of the two young women he had bedded. And, although he had often been absent from the marriage bed with Amenia after their union became strained, they had been lusty lovers in the early days. Yet Amenia had never been gotten with child, or at least not with his child. And Myselene had shown none of the early signs. If he was incapable of siring a son or daughter, the succession picture would be murky no matter who was proclaimed as heir.
Deleted Scene #3: Warburm’s Homecoming
Book Two, Chapter Six
This is a short scene originally designed to flesh out Warburm’s character a little. Although I liked this quite a bit, it was out-of-place and slowed things down so, after much internal debate, I removed it. I’m glad to be able to reproduce it here. It’s an interlude that occurs shortly after Warburm returns to Vantok and has had his audien
ces with Ferguson and Azarak.
Home. It felt strange to call a place “home.” Warburm had been an adventurer for most of his life, moving from place-to-place and never settling down. At one point, he’d had a house to call his own in the settlement for “true believers” Ferguson had established in the North, but he had never truly lived there. His wife had. His daughter had as well - she had been born there. But Warburm had merely stopped there occasionally between missions. It had been a resting place. He had been Ferguson’s courier and wanderer, the man who had rambled the continent gathering information and relaying missions. The life had suited him, but he had been younger then. And, while the trip to The Forbidden Lands had allowed muscle to reclaim areas of his body that had gone soft and flabby, his was still an old man’s form. And old men liked the idea of having a home to come back to.
Fifteen years at The Wayfarer’s Comfort made it seem like more than just another stop on his life’s journey. He had never forgotten that his reason for being there had been to watch over Sorial and nurture him to achieve what he had so recently accomplished. But, during that span, Warburm had quietly transitioned from an adventurer playing the role of an innkeeper to an innkeeper. Now, his duty discharged, he could look at the inn - his inn - as more than part of a disguise. He had no illusions that Ferguson would let him live out the rest of his life in peace, but it was nice to savor this momentary freedom. He was as devoted as any to the cause. He had been ready to lay down his life and still didn’t fully understand how he had survived the bloodshed in Havenham, but there were times when he needed to be free.
He stood outside the inn, watching it during the quietest hours of the night. It felt like late Planting or early Harvest, but it was the dead of Winter. The sun was several hours from cresting the horizon and Vantok was as close to sleep as it ever got. One dim light still glowed in a front window - an indication that someone was up and about, either cleaning up after the previous night’s crowd or getting ready for today’s. It was probably his wife, Ponari, who claimed to need no more than three hours of sleep per night. She was fifteen years Warburm’s junior and had the energy of a woman half her age.
The stable was quiet as well. Warburm glanced over there, to his left, but didn’t take a step in that direction. The stableboy was probably asleep, but it wouldn’t be Sorial. Perhaps it was strange that, even though the lad had left his employ some time ago, Warburm still thought of that building as Sorial’s domain.
Warburm heard the distant sound of hard boots on cobbles as a member of the night’s watch passed by the side of the inn on his rounds. He wondered who it was and whether he knew the man. Darrin and Brendig, the usual pair who’d had this part of this city on their patrol, would never walk the streets of Vantok again. Both had given their lives to enable Sorial to meet his goal. It was a debt that couldn’t be repaid and that few would ever know about. The same could be said of Lamanar, a man Warburm had known for most of his adult life. He had grieved for his friend during the long, lonely hours on the journey home. He should visit Kara and tell her himself...
But Kara wasn’t there, apparently. What the hell was Ferguson up to now? Sending Alicia away at a time like this? And why hadn’t the prelate briefed Warburm about the situation? Something unsettling was happening. Thinking about it probably wouldn’t do him any good; he had never been an accomplished puzzle solver. They frustrated him. He’d have to wait for Ferguson to decide he was ready to confide in him. Could be tomorrow. Could be never. Knowing the man as Warburm did, he’d lay bets it was closer to the former than the latter. Still, the prelate had plenty of priests at his call but only one Warburm.
It was tranquil out here at this time of night. Vantok was home to about 20,000 souls and most of them were abed. Warburm lingered longer than was necessary, committing the scene to memory in case he never again had a moment like this. The world was changing even as he stood here. The gods were gone, although people seemed content to pretend that wasn’t the case. And the wizards were rising. How many were there now? War was coming. Warburm could feel it in his bones. It would sweep up from the Deep South. All those men in The Forbidden Lands weren’t on the move as part of a mass migration. They were gathering. Someone was forging an army out of the available raw materials. Warburm had seen nothing that would give a trained, well-armed militia difficulty, but the things he hadn’t seen worried him. He had no doubt that whoever was leading the attack was aware of the force he would be facing and would come north with more than thousands of unkempt nomads.
Warburm shook himself from his reverie and started toward the inn’s front door, humming a little tune. He even allowed himself a little smile. After all, he had succeeded. And although Ferguson and Azarak had been largely unmoved by his return, there were those inside this building who would be delighted by it. He was home.
Deleted Scene #4: Azarak Confides in Carannan
Book Two, Chapter Six
Another Book Two, Chapter Six outtake, this one extends the subplot introduced in Deleted Scene #2. Whereas Deleted Scene #2 transpired prior to Warburm’s return, this one occurs after.
By the time Azarak received Duke Carannan in his private audience chamber, he had gotten less than an hour of sleep. With little prospect of even a short nap in the immediate future, the king realized he was in for a long day. At least Warburm’s return had clarified matters. Alicia must come home immediately. She must be here, waiting for Sorial, when he made his first appearance as a wizard. That could be today, tomorrow, or a half-season distant. But unless one of Sorial’s enemies found him and ended his tenure as a practitioner of the magic arts, The Lord of Earth would be coming for his bride. She must be in Vantok, in good health and good spirits. His city’s future depended upon it. All other concerns were subordinate to that one. If Sorial rejected Vantok, he might as well order an evacuation and abdicate.
A part of him wondered if he was underestimating Sorial. There was little doubt that a marriage to Alicia was a huge enticement, but if the young wizard’s loyalty was to the community in which he had been raised - the common people, the farmers, the merchants, the laborers, the shopkeepers, the mercenaries - perhaps he might not turn his back on them because of a betrayal and failure by those who ruled the city. Perhaps, by accepting blame, Azarak could deflect Sorial’s anger from his people. Wasn’t that the kind of sacrifice a true king would make? The bards wouldn’t write ballads about it the way they would about a brave stand in battle, but what did it matter if men sung about him after he was dead?
“You have word of Alicia?” asked the duke earnestly after a hasty bow. He looked like Azarak felt - someone in need of sleep and solace. Carannan’s thick dark hair was normally drawn back into a tight tail but today it hung loosely and the strands of gray were as evident as the bruising under his eyes. Carannan’s beard, normally neatly trimmed, had gone ungroomed for several days and there was a thickening layer of stubble on his upper lip.
“Sit down, my friend.” Azarak gestured toward the seat across from him; Toranim was already seated to his left. As on his visit the day before, Carannan seemed reluctant to take a seat but, after an uncomfortable pause, he relented. His shoulders were bowed as if under a great weight.
“She’s dead,” said Carannan, his voice flat. There was such finality in his words that, for a moment, Azarak thought the duke had some knowledge of which he was unaware. Then he realized Carannan was preempting what he expected the king to say.
“No. We’ve had no news of Lady Alicia, but we have no reason to believe any harm has come to her.” Azarak put as much reassurance as he could into his words. “In fact, we think we’ve uncovered a clue to her destination. It lays buried deep in your family history, which is why the chancellor requested that you bring your genealogical records. If we’re correct, we may be able to dispatch an intercept party at once and have her home in a matter of weeks.”
The relief evident in Carannan’s face mingled with mistrust that he was being given false hope. “Ho
w does my family history pertain to Alicia’s whereabouts?”
Azarak had anticipated the question. He considered giving the duke an explanation but, at this point, he couldn’t risk word of his suspicions coming to Ferguson’s attention. The king suspected that, considering the close ties between the prelate and Carannan, nothing short of a royal command would prevent the duke from confronting Ferguson about the matter. Far better to say nothing. “There are matters about Alicia’s circumstances I’m not at liberty to discuss lest they threaten her safety. For the time, you must trust that our interests are aligned in this matter and that your family history is of importance. Once I’ve confirmed what I believe to be in those charts, I’ll tell you everything.”
Carannan nodded. He wasn’t pleased but he understood the nature of secrets. He also recognized that he was Azarak’s subject, not the other way around. The king had no responsibility to tell him anything, even where his daughter was concerned. That Azarak was doing this much was an act of courtesy and friendship.
“There’s something else you should know,” said the king. “The innkeeper Warburm has returned to Vantok.”
“Alone?”
Azarak nodded. “But, according to what he told me, Sorial succeeded at the portal. Our new wizard fears confronting his enemies before he’s more confident in his powers, so he’s gone into voluntary exile to explore them. When he emerges and comes to Vantok, Alicia must be here to greet him.”
“All the schemes, all the plotting... they worked?” Carannan sounded almost disbelieving. “Vantok can be saved?”
“For better or worse, that may depend on your daughter.”
When Carannan departed shortly thereafter, his back was straighter and his features were masked with a new determination.
Deleted Scene #5: Rexall and Warburm’s Flight
The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia Page 17
