“The situations aren’t the same. Vagrum...”
“They’re exactly the same!” snapped Rexall, showing anger for the first time. “We were both paid by agents of Ferguson to provide information. Vagrum’s subject was you, mine was Sorial. The difference is that Vagrum’s conscience was murky while mine is clear.”
“All right. Then let’s address your betrayal in my escape from the temple.”
“Your complaint there is even more difficult to understand. You asked me to help you get out of the temple, pick up a guide who knew the way to the portal, and help get you there. Unless something goes very wrong, you’ll be there in a week. I’d say I fulfilled my end of things marvelously. I ain’t tried to stop you, sabotage your journey, or convince you to go elsewhere. We’re going exactly where you wanted and, as a bonus, I saved your life. Not even Kara realizes how close to dead you were the night after Vagrum got himself shot in the head.”
“It’s not your actions, it’s your motives.”
“With you, there’s always going to be another complaint. Can’t see what about you’s got Sorial besotted. You want to know what really happened? You want to know the whole story about my role in your escape? Okay, I’ll tell you. A few days before you asked for my help, my priest contact came to me and said, ‘We suspect the Lady Alicia is going to request your aid in an escape plan. When she does this, agree to her request then come to us for further instructions.’
“It’s true that Sorial found the tunnel from the inn to the temple, but he didn’t give me enough information that I would have been able to find it on my own. Ferguson provided the location and made sure no one would interfere with your escape. He sent agents to shadow our progress and provide aid, if needed, in dire circumstances. They were the ones who chased us into that dilapidated excuse for an inn and they came to your aid when you were dying of the fever. They were on the bridge a short distance behind us; they sent Vagrum’s killer over the edge to join him and helped me keep you alive after Kara left. They weren’t healers but they had enough medicines to sustain you until aid arrived from Sussaman.”
Alicia felt some of the anger draining away, but not the disappointment, bitterness, and sense of defeat. She could understand how Rexall justified his every action to himself, but she knew betrayal when she encountered it, and this was it. It would have been better had she been left in her cell to rot than to have escaped in this manner. But there was one question she needed to ask.
“Is this the portal where they’re taking Sorial? Have we come all this way for nothing?”
“I dunno. Ferguson wanted you here, but he didn’t tell me why. It could be because he felt it would help Sorial for you to be there for comfort and encouragement, or it could be that he wanted you as far away as possible. I ain’t Ferguson’s confidante. I’m his tool. He uses me for particular tasks but he don’t tell me more than I need to know. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I can give you insight. Kara knows him better. This job is all about getting you to the portal.” And doing one other thing... But she didn’t need to know that, at least not yet.
* * *
After a week on the road from Sussaman to Ibitsal, Alicia had been able to work through some of her inner turmoil and arrive at a more stable state of mind. She and Kara were again talking, although not with the familiarity they had enjoyed before Vagrum’s death. She understood the older woman’s reasons even if they were difficult to forgive. In her own way, Kara thought she was doing what was best for all - supporting Sorial, providing counsel to Alicia, and maintaining the faith in Ferguson that was a cornerstone of her existence. As for Rexall, her ire toward him dimmed. In the darkest hours at night, she was even forced to admit that some of his defenses were difficult to refute, especially the one that likened his actions to Vagrum’s. They had both acted as spies. Would Sorial forgive his oldest friend? Alicia wished she knew the answer. Sorial’s upbringing had been close to Rexall’s; his perspective might be more forgiving than hers. But she couldn’t envision the two enjoying the close companionship they had once shared. Sorial might understand Rexall’s actions but he would never again trust him.
The weather was unpleasant but not bitter or brutal enough to halt travel: cold and overcast with intermittent flurries and snow showers but no heavy or sustained precipitation. Perhaps because she was becoming used to the frigid temperatures, Alicia found that the cold bothered her less than it had south of Widow’s Peak. She just huddled a little deeper into her fur-lined clothing. And she no longer found it difficult to fall asleep at night. Physical discomfort had become the norm.
Her Sussaman-bred guides assured her they were getting closer. Within a day, the small trail they were traveling would merge into the bigger Obis-Syre Road, the North’s major east-west thoroughfare. They wouldn’t be on that path for long, however. Once a direct artery through Ibitsal, the highway had been diverted when rumors emerged of ghosts haunting the old city’s ruins. Still, the new road ran less than a half-day’s walk south of Ibitsal. Best estimates were that they would reach their destination late in the day tomorrow. According to Kara, the tales of wraiths and specters were unfounded - juicy stories told around midnight campfires by adventurers with more machismo than sense. The Sussaman men, two of whom had visited the ancient city, also scoffed. But Alicia’s newfound belief in the supernatural made her nervous. After all, if wizards could exist, why not ghosts?
The terrain seemed nothing if not promising for the dead. They hadn’t seen another person for more than two days and, excepting small wild life and birds, nothing living. One night, they heard wolf howls and, the next day, they saw tracks in the snow, but they didn’t encounter the animals and nothing similar happened again. With everything white during the day - both ground and sky - it was easy to become disoriented. Alicia didn’t know how people could live in this climate. It was unremittingly bleak.
That evening, after they camped, Kara came to sit by Alicia’s fire. It was the first time she had done so since leaving Sussaman.
“How are you?” she asked as she stripped off her wet gloves and rubbed her hands together vigorously near the flames.
Such a simple, banal question but so difficult to answer, at least truthfully. Her mother had taught her that the proper etiquette was to respond to the common greeting with either “grand” or “tolerable,” depending on one’s mood. But Alicia had learned more about the true art of conversation from Vagrum, whose preference had been for blunt speech and profanity over cultivated chatter. “Shitty. I don’t know why I’m here anymore. When I left Vantok, I had a clear purpose. Now it’s all muddled. Sometimes, I think I should give up and go back. Would that be giving Ferguson a victory or a defeat? Does it even matter at this point?”
“But you won’t go back,” said Kara, her voice smooth and certain. “You’re too close. And even though you’re discouraged, you’re curious as well. You want to know how this is going to end. A part of you hopes that by going there, you’ll be able to see Sorial soon. If this is his destination, you know he can’t be far away.”
“I miss him.” The sting of the admission caught her by surprise. Her sudden tears glinted in the firelight - golden streaks on her cheeks that would have matched the color of her hair had she not dyed it. “We’ve only seen each other once in the last year. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me at all or if I was just a passing infatuation he left behind on his climb to power. How I wish things could be like they were but I don’t think either of those people exists any longer. That’s what scares me the most - what was so real between Alicia-at-14 and Sorial-at-16 might be dead by the next time we meet. Will we be strangers, with nothing to say to one another?”
If Kara was surprised by her companion’s honesty, she gave no indication of it. “Wishes... we all have them. I wish I knew my son better than I do but the distance between us was my choice. I can assure you he’s as constant a man as you’ll find, although I think you know that in your heart. It would be more likely for you t
o put him aside than he, you. Sorial at 17 or 18 may be a different person than he was at 15 or 16, but you can be sure his feelings for you are the same. This was no casual fling on his part. He’s devoted to you.”
Alicia nodded, satisfied by the answer. She supposed she was looking for reassurance and the loss of Vagrum had made her feel more vulnerable than at any time in the past. Death, something with which she had little familiarity, had never felt more real, more immediate.
Another day and night passed without incident and, less than two hours after sunrise on the ninth day out of Sussaman, they came upon the east-west road that connected the North’s two biggest cities and centers of commerce, Obis and Syre. And, while there was no one visible at the moment from horizon to horizon, the manner in which the muddy slush had been churned up by hooves, boots, and wheels was proof that the road was heavily traveled even at this time of the year. It was the first sign of habitation they had encountered in many days. They started east at a canter but would only be on the road for the rest of the morning and the first short part of the afternoon. Then it would be time to cut across country, not even following a trail this time, and head directly for the ruins of haunted Ibitsal.
Even in this unfriendly weather, the road was well-maintained. When Alicia mentioned this to Kara, the older woman replied, “The Obis military patrols it almost to the gates of Syre. They also handle repair jobs and provide assistance to stranded travelers, although usually for a price. King Rangarak is obsessive about the roads that lead into and out of his city, and you can’t underestimate the importance of this highway to the North. Take this away and the cities, especially Syre and Obis, would be isolated. Not only would they be unable to trade with one another, but their contact with the South would be greatly reduced. Most of the commerce from Vantok and Basingham is funneled through Widow’s Pass during the warm seasons and through Earlford to Syre in Winter. At this time of the year, this road is used primarily for movement between Obis and Syre, but it still carries significant volume. Obis’ patrols ensure that legitimate travelers aren’t molested.” As if to validate her words, a large contingent appeared on the eastern horizon, heading toward them.
During the three hours they spent on the road, they passed more than a dozen parties heading in the opposite direction. The smallest group consisted of three people - one on a donkey and the other two walking. Most were large, well-guarded caravans with multiple wagons and a small army of well-paid mercenaries to protect the merchants who were rarely seen out in the cold air. The only difference Alicia noticed between these caravans and the ones that visited Vantok were the increased number of guards. In fact, during the Summer, these same merchants might be the ones hawking their wares in Vantok’s marketplace.
It was shortly after noon when the guides from Sussaman indicated the time had come to strike out north of the road. This part of the journey was tedious; they had to move slowly to avoid a misstep. The frozen slush could hide any number of pitfalls and the intermittent flurries of the morning had turned into a steady snowfall that limited visibility. What could be a three hour journey in good conditions looked likely to take twice that long, meaning they might not reach their destination until dusk.
They were fifteen minutes north of the road when Kara moved her horse alongside Alicia’s and asked, “Do you hear it?”
“Hear?” asked Alicia. She strained her ears, but there was nothing other than the usual noises made by the horses as they moved across the snowscape: breathing, saddlebags rustling, iced-over slush and twigs crunching under hooves. Beyond that... nothing. No birds, not even the crows so common in the North, and no little animals - not that the latter would make much of a sound.
Kara shook her head violently, almost as if to dislodge an insect trapped in her ear. “Maybe I’m mistaken... No, I still hear it. On the wind.”
Alicia listened again. It was breezy but they had traveled through windier conditions.
“Perhaps ‘hear’ isn’t the right word,” continued Kara. “It’s almost as if something is whispering directly into my mind.” A wind gust subsided and, in the calm that followed, she said, “Now it’s gone.”
After that, Alicia watched Kara carefully and noticed a pattern. Any time the wind gusted, she would sit erect in her saddle as if listening to something. When the breeze subsided, she would lose the posture of attentiveness. No one else showed signs of being bothered by untoward noises until they stopped for a short break to relieve themselves and munch on some nuts and dried berries.
Comecomecome.
It was faint but distinct and, as Kara had said, seemed spoken into her mind rather than into her ears. Alicia started visibly, although only Kara noticed her reaction.
“It’s the portal,” said the older woman. “Talking to us. Calling us. My son Braddock heard that voice on his last ride. It convinced Ferguson he would be accepted. But that didn’t happen. Not everyone hears it, but apparently there’s no correlation between being called and surviving an encounter. According to Ferguson, though, if you don’t hear the portal, you’d be a fool to step into it.”
The voice, or whatever it was, was constant and insistent, yet it seemed more comforting than confounding. “Come, come, come, come,” said Alicia. “That one word, repeated over and over.”
Kara nodded. “If nothing else, it argues that we’re close.”
“We hear it, but the others don’t.” Alicia saw no signs of alarm or confusion in the men, who were going about their tasks in their typical businesslike manner.
“I hear it on the wind. You hear it because your feet are in contact with frozen water. The men probably have affinities with the other elements. Rexall is unquestionably a child of fire. So they may not be able to hear it yet. Or they may never hear it.”
As they were talking, Aiden approached. “We have to make a decision. This is as good a place as any to stop for the night. If we keep going, we’ll get to Ibitsal after twilight. No time to seek out the portal until morning. No time to find proper shelter either.”
“Seek it out? I thought you’ve been here before?” asked Kara.
“I have, but not for many years. Not since we scouted for Braddock and Ariel. In daylight, it won’t take much to rattle the location out of my rusty memory, but at night... Plus, though I don’t hold with ghost stories, Ibitsal isn’t a place where I’d want to spend a night. So, do we press on or stop here?”
Comecomecome.
Kara cast a glance at Alicia, indicating it was her decision. It was always that way - Aiden deferring to Kara and Kara deferring to Alicia.
“We go on. We can camp outside the ruins, but I want them in sight before we stop.” By her calculations, if Sorial had taken the Earlford route, he would be a week or two away, but there were always variables in long journeys as she had encountered firsthand. If Sorial’s group had purchased horses along the way, for example, they might be very close. Or if Warburm knew a short-cut... Now that she was this close, she wanted to move on in the unlikely event something happened this night.
The day’s remaining trek was difficult with the horses picking their way carefully through ice and frozen slush while the thickening, windswept snow reduced visibility to a few hundred feet. Alicia’s attention wasn’t fully on the terrain as she found herself increasingly distracted by the call of the portal. The same was true of Kara, who once nearly fell from her horse. Rexall noticed something odd about the two but didn’t broach the subject. None of the men showed signs of hearing the portal’s call.
A range of hills separated the Obis-Syre road from the ruins of Ibitsal and it took longer to navigate these in the snow than the Sussaman men had expected. By the time it became too dark to safely travel, they were beyond sight of the ruins. They were close, Aiden assured them, but it would be foolish to go further before morning. Mistrustful as she had become, Alicia wondered if the pace had been intentionally set slow to prevent the party from coming close to the haunted city before dawn. Complaining did no good;
she had to cope with the situation as it was.
Comecomecome.
Aiden and Debulon scouted ahead while the others set up camp. They were not gone long and, upon their return, the first thing Aiden did was to douse the fire.
“We have a problem,” he said, addressing both Alicia and Kara. “The way ahead is blocked.”
“Blocked? How?” asked Alicia. Unbidden, memories of the nightmarish passage through The Broken Crags intruded on her thoughts.
“Camp fires. Many camp fires. There’s an army between us and the portal.”
CHAPTER TWELVE: THE MISSING TRIO
It had been roughly four hours since Azarak had ordered Myselene back to her rooms under the protection of a half-dozen of his most trusted guards. Chancellor Toranim had survived the attack in the palace’s rear garden, but that was all she knew. The situation - one of Vantok’s top officials assaulted on the palace grounds - was disconcerting. Looking out her window, she could see pairs of guards where there normally were none. At least in the near-term, the palace had become an armed camp not unlike the one in which she had been raised.
She pulled the bell to summon Posie. Her maid was not the most witty conversationalist but talking to her was better than staring out the window.
Posie exhibited the mouse-like excitement that servants often showed when something dangerous and unexpected had happened. She was eager to pass along all the gossip, but it amounted to ill-informed speculation. No one knew the truth, or at least no one who had passed the information onto a servant. Chancellor Toranim had been taken to his chambers and was being attended by the king’s personal healer but his manservant hadn’t seen him since the incident and the maids weren’t allowed in to clean.
After they had been talking for a while, Myselene steered the conversation in a different direction. “Posie, do you have any children?” She knew her maid was childless but asking the question was an easy way to broach the subject of offspring. Posie wasn’t clever enough to understand anything but plain speech.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 14
