“If you succeed in your goal of luring Sorial from the portal, what then?”
Alicia hadn’t given much thought to the specifics of the aftermath; she was too concerned about achieving a goal that seemed increasingly difficult to attain. “We disappear. Go live someplace where Ferguson can’t find us.”
Kara laughed softly; it was a mirthless sound. “You underestimate his reach. You’d have to go into the far wilds of The White World or across the seas to find a place where he doesn’t have influence.”
“We’ll live simple lives. Keep to ourselves. The key is to avoid cities.”
“Can you live that way? Can you work the land until your hands are blistered and calloused? Can you endure an empty belly because the crops don’t come in? Can you live in a cold shack with a dirt floor and little more than a square hole in the roof to vent the smoke from a fire? Do you really know what life will be like?”
“How could I? I know I’ve led a sheltered life. I know it’ll be hard. But I’m made of sterner stuff than the average nobleman’s daughter. How many girls of my class would be doing this?” She gestured expansively at the surrounding terrain. Truth be told, Alicia didn’t know any girl of her class, at least not well. But she knew enough about them to recognize they would think she had taken leave of her senses.
“How long before you and Sorial begin to resent one another? You, for the price you’ll pay for being with him? Him, for the constant guilt of not being able to provide, not being able to ease your burden? In the end, even if you and Sorial escape detection, he may seek out a portal in desperation. By then, it’ll be too late. If he waits, he dies. Only four wizards at a time - one per element. The decision he makes when he reaches the portal - to touch it or flee from it - can’t be reversed. Once another has taken his spot, he must find and kill that person in order for it to open again.”
Alicia said nothing. The thing that bothered her most about Kara’s words was the element of truth that lurked in them. Was that how it would be? She hoped she could grit out a life of want and poverty for Sorial’s sake, but could she? Worse still, was she robbing him of his lone chance at something better? But what kind of chance was it when its fulfillment was so unlikely?
“Do you wonder why I came with you?”
“To counterbalance my influence with Sorial. To push him toward the portal as I pull him away.”
Kara shook her head. “When the time comes, I won’t seek to sway him. I’m done with manipulating my son’s life. The final decision is his. I’ve come with you because, when he makes that decision, I should be there as I haven’t been in the past. And because I want you to understand why I believe there’s a very real chance the portal won’t reject him. If you can see that, your actions at the portal will be different. I’m not on this journey to thwart you, Alicia. I’m here to support you. Ferguson wouldn’t approve, but Ferguson is elsewhere. He often seems to be elsewhere.” The last words were spoken in a soft voice laced with a resentment Kara couldn’t entirely conceal.
“What will you do? One way or the other, this is the end for your involvement in Ferguson’s schemes.”
“It depends on Sorial. If he returns in triumph to Vantok, that’s something I’d like to see. After that... I’ll fade away. It’s better for Sorial if I’m not around. He’s lived most of his life without his mother; he doesn’t need me dogging his steps now.”
Alicia wished she had Kara’s faith. Perhaps she did, when it came to Sorial, but not in the same things. Kara looked at Sorial and saw a wizard. Alicia looked at him and saw the boy she had met in the stable who had grown to a man before her eyes. A part of her wanted Kara’s vision to be true, but she couldn’t see it herself.
Kara continued, “Eventually, I’ll probably look for my daughter. Everyone believes her to be dead except me. And maybe Ferguson. I’ve often thought that if Sorial failed, Ferguson would start turning over rocks looking for Ariel. Her departure was too well planned for me to accept that she died of exposure or at the hands of bandits or wild animals. She was clever. She could read and write. She was pretty. She would have found a way to make her way in the world. Right now, she’s probably living the kind of life you hope for yourself and Sorial.”
“What was she like?” Alicia couldn’t help but be curious. Sorial had mentioned his sister only once or twice in passing. Of course, he hadn’t known her.
“In the end, she was sullen and frightened. She idolized her brother and, when he fell at the portal, it devastated her. It did that for all of us but Ariel was at an impressionable age and she knew the duty would fall to her next. After Braddock died, she came to believe it couldn’t be done, so she left. But before those last seasons, she was a wild, wonderful girl. My most vivid memory of her wasn’t of the last time I saw her - I don’t recall when that was - but of a stormy day when she stood on a hilltop and stretched out her arms, embracing the wind. She kissed it and it kissed back, whipping her long hair around her head like a living crown. From the day of her birth, I knew she was a child of the air like I am.”
“I thought only wizards were tied to an element.”
“Superstition and stories have hidden the truth. All of us are born with an affinity for one element or another. It has nothing to do with magic; it’s in our nature. Perhaps it’s a residue of that long-ago era when all humans could wield magic. A wizard’s power is achieved through his natural inclination, but everyone gravitates toward one force or another. For most people, it doesn’t take much looking to see it. As long as you know what you’re looking for, that is. City-born men and women are no longer taught this, but knowledge of it lives all across the continent in small villages and settlements.”
“What do you see when you look at me?” The idea that Kara proposed was foreign but there was something about it that sounded right. Such a thing would provide a greater sense of balance.
She cocked her head and considered. “Water. Think about it. If you get dirty, do you have an overpowering need to bathe? Do you love the rain? Do you find the sound of dripping water to be soothing?”
As a child, Alicia had driven her governesses, tutors, and mother to distraction by running outside barefoot in the rain and splashing in puddles. She had spent long hours in and around the river even before the advent of the heat wave. And when Rexall had helped her escape the temple through the tunnel, the distant drip-drip-drip of water had had a calming influence. There was sense in what Kara said. “What about Sorial?”
“Earth. He and Lamanar both. Most farmers have that affinity. Or at least those that are successful.”
“And Ferguson?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Kara. “He’s inscrutable, unreadable. He keeps his affinity hidden, thinking that to show it would be to give another an edge over him.”
They lapsed into silence after that, with Alicia dwelling on everything she had gleaned from her conversation with Kara. If the older woman’s goal was to plant the seed of doubt in Alicia’s mind about the predestined failure of Sorial’s quest, she had sown well.
Later that day, as the sun was making its fast descent toward the mountainous horizon, Vagrum reined in his horse to come alongside Alicia.
“We’re being shadowed, Milady.”
Alicia scanned the nearby terrain. Their surroundings looked much the same in every direction: winter scrub peeking above a layer of half-frozen slush that hid the unevenness of the rocky ground. She saw no one beyond her companions and, other than the southbound merchant caravan they had passed in the mid-afternoon, she hadn’t seen anyone else since their departure from the inn.
“Are you sure?” asked Rexall from his place in front.
“They know what they’re about. Not like those fools who tried to ambush us a couple of weeks back. Barely caught two glimpses myself but it was enough to know. This ground gives them plenty cover and they’re staying just out of sight, beyond that ridge over there...” He pointed at a rise to the right. “Watching and waiting, I imagine.”
“Aye.” Vagrum nodded his approval of Alicia’s tactical assessment. “That’s what worries me. And I dunno how long they’ve been following us. I spied them today, but they coulda been out there for days, biding their time. It’s never the rash ones that make me worry. It’s the patient ones. The ones for who time is an ally, not an enemy.”
Rexall’s eyes were directed at the sun, which was about to be eclipsed by one of The Broken Crags’ peaks. “Night comes fast in the mountains and I don’t fancy sleeping by the roadside with them out there. Maybe that’s what they’re waiting for.”
“Can’t say I disagree.” Vagrum urged his horse to a trot. “Let’s see what we can get out of these animals. If we’re lucky, we can reach a ramshackle old inn a few miles south of the crossroads. Don’t know if it’s still open. It was in pretty bad shape last time I was in these parts and I think the man running it was just a vagabond who found it abandoned and thought he could make a few coins.”
“If it’s not there?” asked Alicia.
“We camp or keep going into the night. There are risks either way. Even on a road, this ain’t terrain friendly to horses in the darkness. And using a lantern to light the path... there’s no surer way to pinpoint your location to anyone who might be looking.”
She urged her horse forward at greater speed. Not since departing Vantok had they traveled at a canter, wanting to keep their mounts strong and well-rested. But it was for times like this when strong, well-rested horses were needed. For, although time might be an ally to the strangers out there, it wasn’t one for Alicia and her companions.
CHAPTER THREE: LESSONS LEARNED
Sorial gazed at his image, reflected in a still pool of water, with frank disbelief. Admittedly, it had been nearly a year since he had last seen a representation of himself, but he could scarcely believe it was the same person. His stocky body, although still well-muscled, had thinned considerably and he wore his seventeen years heavily. Someone meeting him for the first time might mistake him for a man ten years his senior. His arms were scarred by the puckered reminders of the torture he had endured at the hands of the sadist Langashin. He had lost his left hand, two toes from his right foot, his earlobes, and a tooth. An injury to his nose, which had been sliced open from the inside, had healed poorly, leaving it misshapen. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, resulting in a heavy growth of ragged dark fur on his lower face and across his upper lip. The untamed hair atop his head, normally kept short as a guard against lice, was lengthening and curling at the ends. His naked body was covered with dirt and grime from neck to toe; there seemed little point in wearing clothing. The earth kept him warm and protected. Of course, when he returned to civilization, he would have to cede comfort for necessity. Human habitations would react strangely to a filthy, naked man. He would be turned away at the first checkpoint he approached, if not before then.
This was the first time Sorial had been above ground in nearly five weeks. During that long period, he had made a deep, inaccessible underground cavern his domain. There was a clear stream running through it to provide water and fish, and his rock wyrm “pet” procured other food for him. As much as he loved the earth and all it offered, he had found himself increasingly desirous of seeing the sun and sky. So he had made this trip, riding the rock wyrm as it burrowed up through the earth to emerge in a grotto deep within The Forbidden Lands.
His thoughts turned to revisiting the lands of men. His desire to be reunited with Alicia hadn’t diminished during his self-imposed exile. If anything, it was stronger than ever. He wondered if she knew about his success at the portal. He had entrusted the message to Warburm but the innkeeper’s chances of survival were questionable. There was no guarantee he had made it back to Vantok. If he hadn’t, Alicia would be waiting and worrying, her despair growing with every passing day.
Yet he couldn’t return, at least not yet. To attempt it would be folly. His sister was out there, somewhere, and she had pronounced a death sentence upon him, contingent on his surviving the portal’s initiation process. They were both wizards now, two of four, but her experience outweighed his by more than a decade. She could do things he could only imagine. Surviving a confrontation with her didn’t demand that he be able to match her in skill and power, but he needed to possess a greater understanding of his abilities and their limitations than he currently did. He had learned much in his five weeks of solitude, but there was more to be probed and investigated.
Sorial waded into the pool, allowing the water to embrace his body, washing away the dirt. He found the act of bathing oddly refreshing, although it represented the caress of a foreign element.
Sorial hadn’t thought much about the future even though it was growing ever closer to converging with the present. His mind frequently wandered to Alicia while waking and asleep. She was a recurring distraction. Beyond claiming her, however, he hadn’t formulated a plan of action. He would return to Vantok and, if King Azarak’s offer was worthy, pledge himself to serve the city as its first wizard in nine centuries. Beyond that…? Part of the problem was that he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Marriage to Alicia and a comfortable life, to be sure. But what else? He was unmoved by thoughts of wealth and power. And what would be required of him? Putting an end to the heat wave would be his first task but he suspected his service to the city would culminate with him pitted against his sister and The Lord of Fire. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Sorial wasn’t yet convinced that a life-or-death struggle was the only way things could be resolved between him and Ariel or, for that matter, between him and The Lord of Fire. He didn’t view either as an enemy, although his goals and theirs weren’t aligned. If there were only four wizards, it made sense for them to form a common alliance. Infighting seemed pointless and counterproductive, although Sorial could understand how they might view him as a threat. They had been the sole practitioners of magic for years; his uninvited initiation into their small circle interrupted carefully laid plans.
Still, if Ariel would provide him with an opportunity for discourse, Sorial felt certain he could convince her that they need not be enemies. He was less certain the same could be said of The Lord of Fire. If the wizard’s goal was to destroy Vantok by baking its lands and citizens, Sorial was bound to intervene. He didn’t love the city where he had grown up the way some residents no doubt did, but he felt a responsibility to defend it. Until he had departed late the previous year on the trek that had led to his disfigurement and transformation, he had known no other life than the one he had enjoyed (and sometimes endured) in Vantok. And if he pledged his service to King Azarak, he intended to be faithful to that oath, regardless of what he had told Langashin while being tortured.
As Sorial was washing, the sun emerged from behind the thick blanket of clouds that clogged the sky. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness to which weeks of underground existence had made him ill accustomed. Far beneath the surface of The Forbidden Lands, the world he inhabited was lighted by glowing lichen and strange, luminescent crystals. Sorial dimly recalled having seen a “glowstone” sold in the marketplace for an outrageous sum. If he was to excavate all those he found below, he could be a wealthy man. But such things meant little to him. Money had never been a driving force in his life and he rarely had possessed more than a couple of knives and the clothes on his back to call his own. What would he do with it now?
Naked and dripping, Sorial emerged from the pool, intending to let the sun dry him. During the early days of Winter, the sun’s angle was low in the southern sky, barely skimming the tops of the tallest mountain peaks around him, but the temperature was mild. It was said that even in the depths
of the coldest Winters, The Forbidden Lands remained temperate.
Sorial briefly entertained revisiting the ruins of Havenham, but satisfying a mild curiosity hardly seemed a good reason to make the trip. Riding the rock wyrm as it undulated through dirt and rock like a fish through water, he could accomplish the journey in less than a day, but to what end? To see if the nomads he had scared off had come back? To return to a portal that was no longer of use or value to him? For now, Havenham was in his past, not his future.
Sorial settled his mind and “called” the rock wyrm. The passage of time and a growing familiarity had made this process second nature. He wondered if he could do it as easily with any of the other earth-based creatures. There were surprisingly few, at least of the mythical variety. The rock wyrms had been hunted nearly to extinction. There was a small population but they rarely came close to the surface except to hunt. The trolls were even less numerous and concentrated further to the south. He had briefly touched the primitive mind of one while using the mountains to channel and amplify his thoughts, but he hadn’t pursued the contact. Then there were the rarest of all, and the most terrible: the mountain giants. If any survived, Sorial hadn’t found a trace, although his rock wyrm insisted they could be uncovered if one looked long and deep enough.
Magic had proven to be far different than Sorial had envisioned before entering the portal. His original conception had been based on fairy tale exaggerations and fabrications. He had assumed he would be able to do things like create balls of light, cause flames to shoot from his fingertips, levitate above the ground, and travel in the blink of an eye from one place to another. Maybe some wizards could do those things, but not him. Earth didn’t accommodate such acts of magic and, since his symbiosis was with that element, he could only work acts involving it.
He imagined The Lord of Fire could conjure a flame with barely a thought. For Sorial, however, such a thing was impossible. He had tried, spending long, fruitless hours staring into space in his cavern trying to will the smallest whisper of an ember. But he couldn’t touch fire. There were ways to cheat using earth. He could find perfect striking stones that would yield a shower of sparks when scraped together. He could pull molten rock from deep below ground and use it to ignite dry kindling. And once a fire was started, extinguishing it was no problem. Dirt smothered flames instantaneously, which provided Sorial with a small measure of confidence when contemplating a struggle against The Lord of Fire. Air, on the other hand, might prove to be a different matter.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 3
