Rexall’s expression was sympathetic. “On the other hand, a princess needs to show spunk and spirit. I’ve only ever known one other woman who’s as headstrong as your mother and she’s been dead since you were a baby.” Kara couldn’t help but wonder to whom he was referring. He continued, “A queen needs to have a backbone. I’m not saying you should make a habit of dodging your protectors but there are worse things than doing something unpredictable once in a while. Just don’t put your safety in jeopardy. What you did today was exhilarating and brave but it was also reckless. If someone with a grudge against the queen had recognized you, you might have ended up with a knife in your belly. Didn’t think of that, either, did you?”
A knife in the belly? She had never considered the possibility that her life could be in danger. Kara had assumed that everyone in the city loved her mother and, by extension, her. She found herself close to tears. Maybe it would have been better if her mother had come in here and yelled at her. Rexall’s calm, reasonable approach was making her feel terrible about what she had done. “All I wanted…”
“I know,” said Rexall quietly. “But there are lots of things you want that you can never have. Once in a while, though, if you do your duty, you get a chance at them. Sorial married Alicia, the love of his life and the one thing he wanted above all others, because he did his duty. I got your mother, who turned out to be the love of my life, because I did mine. Believe me, if you do yours, you’ll get something you want and it will be a lot better than a couple of hours running wild through the streets of Vantok.”
He reached under his cloak and withdrew something. “This is for you. For many years, we thought it lost in The Forbidden Lands. On a whim, I decided to offer a handsome reward, not really expecting anything. But someone came forward. I can’t say with certainty it belonged to your father but it looks the same. He was proud of it. Kept it close at all times. By right, it should be yours.” The item he proffered was a dagger.
Despite the deceptively simple style, it was a first-rate blade - strong and sharp. The length of her forearm, it was as wide at its widest point as three fingers. One edge was smooth, the other serrated. This had been her father’s? As fine a weapon as it was, it wasn’t at all what she imagined a king to wield - more utilitarian than ornamental. She took it and turned it over in her hands.
“Careful,” Rexall warned. “That’s a bit sharper than anything you’ve played with in your blade-defense courses. Keep it on you. Get someone to fashion a hidden sheath in your boot. Learn to use it. You never know when it will save your life. It comes with strings, though.”
“What?”
“An apology to your mother for what you did today and a promise that the next time you want a taste of freedom, you’ll talk to someone first. That ‘someone’ can be me. I think you’ll find that I can be a good listener for things like that.”
“Agreed.”
Rexall rose. As he was about to pull open the door to exit, he paused. “One more thing. You’re confined to the palace grounds until Your Maturity.” He shrugged apologetically. “For something like this, I have to hand out a punishment. It’s my duty.”
* * *
Prelate Belmar was a small, unprepossessing man. In youth, he had been considered handsome by some but age had robbed him of his good looks as well as his stature. With too little hair to support the tonsure he had sported for decades, his pate was now bald. His face was wrinkled but his sapphire eyes retained the spark of his keen intellect. Belmar had spent his entire adult life in the priesthood - first as a novice toiling away in Syre, then as a member of Prelate Ferguson’s inner circle and the Temple’s representative on King Azarak’s council, and finally in the august position of senior cleric in Vantok’s reconstituted temple. Technically, he was Ferguson’s successor although the position had been open for five years before the ratification of his nomination. It had taken nearly a decade after the war for life in the temple to return to something approaching normalcy. Of course, all was not as it had once been. The death of the gods, long a “secret” kept by the priests, was now widely accepted so the concept of “religion” had taken on a different meaning than it had when the gods had reigned in the heavens.
His current scheme, hatched during the years while he had toiled away in Sussaman waiting to be recalled to Vantok to assume his current position, had reached the moment of fruition. Ideally, he would have liked more time. The carvers hadn’t finished the image and there were a myriad of incomplete and unstarted minor tasks. But he was a slave to the calendar and this date had long been established as critical. They had less than a week. Action had to be taken before Princess Kara reached her Maturity. Everything he had worked for depended on it.
The plan had been rehearsed countless times. Belmar believed they were as prepared as they could be but the potential variables concerned him. He also didn’t like the necessity of violence. He understood that a few deaths were inevitable. Even more distastefully, the girl’s maidenhead might have to be taken by force, but he couldn’t see any alternatives. He wished he had Ferguson’s gift for plotting. He had learned much from his former superior but the ancient prelate had taken many secrets to the grave with him. Thankfully, he had left behind enough to convince Belmar that there was only one proper way to proceed.
The prelate started when he realized he was no longer alone in his spartan, dimly lit study. Standing silently on the other side of his desk, waiting to be acknowledged, was Brother Bartholemu.
“What news?” asked Belmar.
“One of our messengers from the palace has reported that, after leaving the Temple today, Princess Kara slipped her guards and led them a merry chase through the city. Apparently, she took something I told her to heart.”
“Then you’ve succeeded in gaining her trust?”
“More than that, I hope. Unless I misread the signs, the princess has developed an infatuation for me.”
Belmar harrumphed his approval. “Not surprising. You’re a good looking fellow. It’s what we hoped for. It will make things easier.”
Belmar lacked Ferguson’s talent for manipulating people. The former prelate had been instrumental in orchestrating the attachment between Magus Sorial and Magus Alicia when they had been young. Belmar had been doing his best to follow that template in this activity although he knew its implementation was lacking. He had been given weeks, not years, to cultivate an emotional connection between these two. Sorial and Alicia’s relationship had evolved over more than a half-decade.
For what he was planning, he couldn’t help but long for the participation of his old friend and mentor. Ferguson’s advice would have been invaluable. Belmar felt out of his depth. Until now, he had mostly been a loyal soldier. This was his first time leading a charge into battle. He hoped it wouldn’t be his last. He had few doubts about the rightness of his actions but being on the right side wasn’t necessarily meaningful in history’s eyes. During his lifetime, Ferguson had been revered. The slow passage of time had eroded his legacy (helped in no small part by widespread slanders), elevating the reputation of foul murderer. How was it fair that a great man - the person entrusted by the gods with preserving harmony in troubled times - should be discredited in favor of the traitorous adventurer-cum-innkeeper, Warburm? Belmar’s actions in the coming days weren’t merely to continue Ferguson’s good work but to rehabilitate his name.
There was danger in Belmar’s plan. Queen Myselene possessed many laudable qualities but mercy and forgiveness weren’t among them. In her eyes, his actions would be treasonous. If they failed, he and his followers would give employment to Vantok’s gibbet-makers. It wasn’t a comforting thought. But he remembered something Ferguson had said not long before Warburm had slit his throat: “I could die tomorrow, Belmar, even with my work not yet done, and be at peace. Because I have followed the path of my destiny.” How could he do any less? It was an entirely different thing to say one was willing to die for one’s beliefs than actually to do it. Many could give
lip service to the former but how many could claim the latter?
Ironically, he didn’t even believe in the cause he was championing. He was a pragmatist, not a zealot. But if he had learned nothing more in his seven decades of life, it was that men needed gods. They craved having faith in a higher power. And if those gods didn’t exist in reality, he would invent them. Even now, he had artisans chipping away creating the graven image that would mark the first representation of the new order. The fledgling sect already had hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of adherents all across the continent. It was dry kindling awaiting a flame. Very soon, Belmar would bring flint and steel and the first sparks would be struck.
Chapter Three
Rexall was rudely awakened in the middle of the night by his bed companion’s tossing and turning. The queen’s insomnia was nothing new but it had become more pronounced lately. It didn’t take the powers of a seer to guess that her sleeplessness was related to the impending Maturity of her first born. Although this date had been set from the moment of Kara’s birth, Myselene had avoided some of the more difficult implications. Now, they could no longer be ignored.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice thick with the weariness that comes from being startled awake.
“I can’t sleep.”
Sometimes she treated him like a dolt. “I guessed that much. What is it now?”
“Lavella wants us to leave within a week for the portal. To test Kara and, if she hears its call, to send her through. As if it was a safe and sure thing. What if there’s a Lord of Fire out there… someone we don’t know about? What if someone used the portal between Excela’s death and when I sent to troops there? It was unguarded for a half-year period.”
That worry again… Rexall didn’t know much about portals but, as he understood it, if a person heard the portal’s call and the ‘position’ wasn’t already occupied, transformation was a straightforward matter. He had personally witnessed two portal encounters. Both had gone according to the prescription. Sorial’s mother had died because the element of air hadn’t been available. Alicia, on the other hand, had become The Lady of Water. Myselene’s concern wasn’t without merit but there was minimal potential that Kara’s life would be in danger because of an unknown Lord of Fire. His instincts argued that there would have been some sign of a second wizard during the past fifteen years and Lavella had been watchful for indications. She wasn’t going to take any chances with the life of Sorial’s daughter. But it was a mother’s purview to worry.
“I’m thinking about not making the journey.” The queen’s pronouncement startled Rexall to full wakefulness.
“But you have to. Lavella expects…”
“I’m the queen. Lavella doesn’t outrank me. It’s the other way around. She’s my subject. There are compelling reasons to keep Kara away from the portal.”
“You would prevent her from becoming a wizard?”
Myselene nodded. “If she has the capability, yes. Never awaken it. Let someone else take the burden. She’s too important to Ayberia to be risked in such an uncertain venture.”
“Lavella says it’s safe - as long as she hears the call.”
“Lavella is repeating what Sorial and Alicia surmised and what she’s read in books. She doesn’t know. No one living today does. Maybe no one living a thousand years ago did, either. How many portal attempts have there been since The Last Whisper? Nine that we know of - Justin, Braddock, Ariel, Sorial, Alicia, Kara, Lavella, Excela, and Dorthik. Hardly a good sample size to risk the life of the future heir of Vantok and Obis. And two of those died.”
“But think of what it would mean to have a wizard on the throne?” Rexall knew that was Lavella’s dream - the possibility of a wizard-queen. Awesome power to invest in one person.
“A position she’ll never achieve unless I abdicate. How old was Sorial when he died? Nineteen? He looked like a man of fifty. Lavella is forty-five. She looks like an old woman despite rarely using her powers. Wizards age fast. If Kara became one, she’ll be dead in twenty or thirty years at best. Unless an assassin’s blade finds my back, there’s a good chance I’ll still be alive then. She’ll never see the throne. She has more value to me as a queen in waiting than a magic-kissed princess who whose son or daughter will succeed me.”
“Lavella will fight you if you try to keep Kara from the portal. As Sorial’s blood-daughter, her blood must be especially rich…”
“That’s another thing. Neither Azarak nor I had a magical heritage. What a coincidence that suddenly the heir to two cities would be a wizard! How long until tongues began wagging and until some gossip-monger made the connection.”
From what Rexall remembered of Ferguson’s ramblings, bloodline wasn’t the only thing that determined magical aptitude. For some people with no family history, it occurred randomly. About one in six-thousand. Myselene was right - if Kara became a wizard, the rumors would start. But at that point, would anyone care? Sorial was more revered than Azarak. Gossip about Kara being the offspring of the Magus Supreme would more likely elevate public opinion than diminish it. “There’s one thing you haven’t thought of, though,” he added, knowing she wouldn’t thank him for the observation.
“What’s that?”
“In two days, Kara will have reached Maturity. Technically, it will be her decision whether to visit the portal and, if Lavella is determined for her to go there… Well, Alicia’s aunt can be very persuasive.”
Myselene didn’t respond. Rexall didn’t know whether to say something to prolong the conversation but the moment passed and he found himself lying on his back, staring into the darkness. Eventually, the queen’s breathing became regular and she began to snore softly.
He could see a variety of ugly scenarios playing out in the weeks ahead. Lavella wouldn’t let go of Kara’s potential. The dream of a wizard-queen was one she had clung to for a decade and a half. Myselene, on the other hand, had made up her mind about her daughter’s future and it didn’t have a portal in it. And Kara? What would Kara want?
The deep sleep that had so recently embraced Rexall remained elusive for the rest of the night.
* * *
Kara was distracted but that wasn’t unusual when she was being lectured by Magus Lavella. As a teacher, the only living wizard possessed a wealth of information to share but her methods and manner were such that the princess rarely absorbed or retained much. Lavella was severe and humorless - two qualities that didn’t endear her to her free-spirited pupil.
Kara supposed she could understand why Lavella was so sour and impatient. Being the sole survivor of “Supreme Magus Sorial’s quartet” must have been stressful. She had been alone for the fifteen years. Although she might have preferred a lifestyle of solitary study and contemplation, she had accepted the public role of vetting potential wizard candidates and teaching a few select students like Kara. Often, the princess wished she hadn’t been singled out for such special treatment.
The stick came down hard on Kara’s knuckles. Lavella knew how to use the implement to impart maximum discomfort with no damage. “Pay attention,” she said, her voice deceptively soft. Kara favored her with a baleful glare. Striking a princess was supposed to be a hanging offense. When Kara had mentioned that to Lavella on another occasion, the response had been, “Except when the princess deserves it.”
“Next week, you will begin a journey that will take you into the Deep South, beyond the mountains of Havenham and into the nether regions of The Forbidden Lands. There, you will be introduced to the chamber of the portal. If you have the talent, you will immediately be invested with your birthright. If not, you will be allowed to return to Vantok and resume your life. From start to finish, there and back again, the trip will take a full season. Keep that in mind as you arrange your schedule for later in the year.”
Kara was flabbergasted. A trip to the portal? She might have laughed aloud - her mother wouldn’t even let her wander the streets of Vantok let alone venture through one of the most dangerous area
s of the continent. The Forbidden Lands had earned their name and reputation. Whole armies had been lost there in the past.
And why would she be going there in the first place? As best she could remember from Lavella’s lessons, only serious candidates were brought into a portal’s close proximity. Outside of the six cities, no place on the whole of the continent was more secure. No one went there without the express permission of the queen and magus and then only to take the portal’s test. Surely that wasn’t the case with her. Her expression betrayed her consternation.
“It’s a formality,” said Lavella. “Every boy and girl of high standing must be brought to the portal. The nobles of the great cities have made this part of the Wizards’ Policy. With commoners, we only take the most promising candidates - those whose bloodlines have some connection to a known wizard. With nobles, all are tested. We can’t make exception for you.”
It sounded reasonable and yet…if this ‘Wizards’ Policy’ existed, why hadn’t she heard about it? Ruefully, she had to admit that it was possible that Lavella had mentioned it during one of her interminable lectures and she hadn’t been paying attention. But this was no minor undertaking. If she was to make this trip in a week, why hadn’t her mother or Rexall approached her about it? Something odd was afoot.
“Do you think I’m a wizard?” It wasn’t something she had ever considered. Obviously, others had.
Lavella smiled, something she rarely did. The expression looked strange and forced, almost as if the muscles of her face weren’t quite sure how to do it. “There is in every one of us some little chance that we could control greater powers. The talent of wizardry can be passed along through the blood. Alicia and I were children of the same bloodline. Sorial, his sister, his brother - all were the result of the union of two direct descendants of great wizards. Then there are others like Justin who, without pedigree, can still wield the power. Neither Myselene nor Azarak was a known magus descendant but that doesn’t mean you cannot have the ability. We must know for certain one way or the other and the only way to do that is to bring you to a portal. Surely you understand how transformative it could be for the rulership of Vantok and Obis if the future heir was also a magus?”
The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia Page 20
