“If we’re going back to Vantok? You were considering somewhere else?”
“We’re wizards. We can go where we like, live as we want.”
“If not Vantok, where?” asked Alicia.
“Any of the other five cities would be happy to have two wizards in residence. Or we could explore the world. Go beyond The Forbidden Lands. See what’s across the seas.”
“It’s a nice fantasy, but... Stableboy, my whole life is in Vantok. I know it’s different for you, especially now that... your mother isn’t there. But everyone I know, everyone I care about is there. It’s not many people, but I could never forgive myself if I had it in my power to save them from what’s coming.”
Sorial’s mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Nobility from a noble. No longer the spoiled brat. You’ve grown up.”
“Was I that much of a bitch?”
“More.”
She laughed. “I guess I deserved that. So are we agreed to go home, to Vantok?”
Sorial nodded. Besides, he was on a collision course with The Lord of Fire. If he ran, he could only run for so long. For all he knew, Ariel was tracking him at this moment. His use of magic above ground would have marked him if she was looking and listening. The key at the moment was to keep moving so she would only know where he had been, not where he was.
“A week, you said? It took me nearly a full season to get here and I was on horseback. How long did it take you?”
“Two days ago, I was with your father, King Azarak, and Ferguson. But we can’t go back the way I came. To be precise, you can’t go back that way.”
“Because you think I won’t get naked?”
“No,” replied Sorial with a laugh. It felt as good to laugh as to smile - two things Alicia had brought back to him. “I’m sure you would but it wouldn’t matter. I traveled under the ground, sliding through rock like water. But it only works for me - you’d slam into it like walking into a cliff face. I’m sure there’s a way I could take you with me, but I ain’t figured it out yet, and I ain’t gonna risk your life experimenting. But I can still turn a long, long road into a short one. We won’t make it in time for the Midwinter Carnival, which starts in two days, but we’ll be back before the first anniversary of our betrothal.” That was in a little more than two weeks, on Alicia’s sixteenth birthday.
The ground began to tremble. Somewhere outside the tent, there was a sound like a rock fall. “Come meet my new best friend, our steed for the return journey.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE PRISONER’S ADVICE
Azarak couldn’t recall another Midwinter’s Day quite like this one: balmy and breezy, it was a perfect day for outdoor merchants to hawk their wares. People strolled the streets in light tunics and short leggings cut off above the knees. Laughing children played in parks and safer alleys. Out in the fields, farmers were nurturing crops approaching harvest readiness. All-in-all, it would have been a perfect Midsummer’s Day, but that’s not what the calendar said. The king recognized that less than a week’s travel to the north, the day would be celebrated traditionally: with hot spiced cider and families and friends gathered around crackling fires. Evergreen boughs, not a rainbow of gaily colored flowers, were the decoration of choice. In the morning, women would use hand picks to crack the night’s skin of ice on the surface of water wells and full bathing was unthinkable except in mansions where water could be heated in heavy iron tubs. In Vantok, the public bathing areas were still muddy from overuse.
But if the heart of Winter was like the best of Summer, what would conditions be in two seasons, when the sun beat down relentlessly and night was a passing break between dusk and dawn? Vantok would wither and die, a baked wasteland uninhabitable by all but the heartiest weeds and insects. The king didn’t believe his people could survive another year like the last one, especially when early indications were that this one would be worse. Perhaps his invisible enemy’s plan was not for a military conquest at all. Maybe he just intended to wait until heat and drought depopulated Vantok, then walk in and take what was left.
Azarak couldn’t engage that enemy. He might lose a war fought with swords and axes but at least he could strike at the opponent. In this case, he needed magic to counter magic, and that led to one inescapable conclusion. Salvation was in Sorial’s hands, and Sorial was in the North trying to save the woman he loved. There was no guarantee of his return regardless of whether he succeeded or not. He might well opt to take his abilities elsewhere, and who would blame him? The architect of that situation was Prelate Ferguson, currently a “guest” in the palace, held under lock and key and watched day and night. By all rights, he should be enjoying the accommodations of the dungeon, but Azarak had vetoed that suggestion when it was advocated by Toranim and seconded by Myselene. For all his faults, crimes, and alleged misdeeds, Ferguson was still the most powerful priest on the continent and had done nothing to warrant humiliation. Yet, to appease Sorial, Azarak recognized he might have to sentence Ferguson to death. And if that was the price to secure a wizard’s service, Azarak would pay it. The prelate was a relic of the past. He and his Temple had little place in the new order of things. Dead gods were not to be feared or worshipped. They could neither help nor harm.
Azarak hadn’t seen Ferguson since, in disguise, he had arrived at the palace gates in the company of the innkeeper Warburm. He had been confined in a small, tidy room. Twice a day, he was allowed supervised walks in the inner palace gardens. His room, originally designed to house a junior page, was a mere ten feet by eight feet and contained only a bed, a small chest, and a chamber pot. Other than occasional requests for reading material from the king’s library, the prelate was a quiet and non-disruptive prisoner. He made no demands or threats. He appeared content to await Azarak’s pleasure, which was a refreshing change. Yet having him in custody did little to lessen the king’s troubles. Ferguson’s damage was of the past not the present, yet its ramifications could destroy the future.
This morning, Azarak had chosen to interview Ferguson in his private audience chamber, where they had met so many times before. At the least, it would allow the prelate to maintain the fiction that they were still equals even though both knew the equation had changed. The king could have pressed his advantage and paid Ferguson a visit in his temporary quarters but that wouldn’t have been a positive step toward gaining the man’s cooperation.
Admittedly, Azarak had been procrastinating when it came to conducting this interview. Ferguson’s situation had to be handled delicately and, for there to be an orderly ecclesiastical transition, the prelate had to be involved in the process, although he would not be allowed to pick his successor. The highest ranking priests would meet to ratify the king’s “suggestion,” but Ferguson’s approval would be invaluable. Additionally, Azarak wanted to avoid a public trial, since anything along those lines would turn into an ugly spectacle. That was the last thing the king wanted when also faced with a recalcitrant nobility, the impending arrival of his future father-in-law, and the increasing threat to his city from The Forbidden Lands.
Ferguson was already seated when Azarak entered the room. He was calm, relaxed, and perfectly groomed. If Azarak hadn’t known better, he would have assumed that Ferguson had come directly from the temple, not been escorted here from a cell. If the prelate was unhappy about his current situation, nothing in his demeanor showed it. The king was nonplused, although he shouldn’t have been. What had he expected: a shaken, befuddled old man ready to throw himself on the mercy of the Crown? The portrait was so unlikely it was difficult to envision.
“Your Majesty,” said Ferguson, nodding his head in acknowledgement but not rising.
“Your Eminence,” responded Azarak with an equal lack of deference. He accepted a goblet of wine from a servant then dismissed the man to join Ferguson’s escorts in the hall outside. He and the prelate were alone.
“I must admit, Your Majesty, I’m surprised it took so long for you to summon me. Four days. I assumed that, after I presented myse
lf at the palace for confinement, I’d have the pleasure of your company almost immediately.”
“Much of my time has been occupied cleaning messes you’ve had a hand in creating. And you allowed yourself to be arrested because Sorial commanded you to do so. By all that was once holy, I hope you’re right about Alicia, because if she hasn’t survived...”
“These aren’t times for the timid, Your Majesty. If you lack the spine to sit on the throne and make the difficult decisions, it may be time to hand the city’s rulership to one who can.”
“Such as you, perhaps?”
Ferguson chuckled, apparently genuinely amused. “We have sparred with each other for years, yet you know me so poorly. I have no desire for your throne. Were it offered, I would turn it down. I have my own duties and obligations, laid upon me by those gods whose will I have always obeyed. It’s a sacred calling, even though those who issued it are no longer with us.”
“Is it your sacred calling that your followers be kept ignorant of the fate of their gods?”
“My sacred calling is to maintain the balance necessary for this world to continue its existence. This can’t be left to chance. There must always be men willing to make the necessary sacrifices. To achieve that aim, there’s nothing I wouldn’t dare. Chaos needs few allies; it’s the natural state of things. Order, however, must be nurtured if it is to stand as a bulwark against the darkness that always threatens.”
“This is your justification? For all you’ve done?”
Ferguson shrugged. “I’ve done little enough. There’s much more that needs to be achieved. Vantok is no longer my primary concern; its needs are secondary.”
“Dangerous words from one who may soon stand trial for treason.”
“Come, Your Majesty. Neither of us is naïve enough to believe it will ever come to that. You can’t afford the political capital that would be lost in such a trial. One of two things will happen. You’ll pardon me under condition that I resign as prelate and accept some form of incidental punishment or you’ll have me quietly assassinated while I sit in my cell. My obvious preference is for the former but should you deem it unacceptable then there’s little I can do to prevent my death. But let me warn you: I have amassed such a wealth of knowledge about wizards over the course of my lifetime that you would be foolish to throw away the advice I could provide to you and the two who will soon be at your disposal.”
“And if one of those wizards demands your head as payment for his services?”
“Then I will bow before the headsman’s ax after saying a few suitably pious last words. I doubt it will come to that, however. Exile would also be a poor choice. You would do well to keep me close.”
“You argue that I should appoint you to a position as an advisor?” Azarak was incredulous, although the arrogance of the suggestion wasn’t out of character.
“Sorial and Alicia have power. Perhaps power enough to defeat The Lord of Fire and The Lady of Air. But they lack knowledge and understanding of the larger canvas. They see only what is immediately in front of them; I believe our adversary has his sights set on a distant target. Without the knowledge I have accrued over the decades, your wizards will be stumbling in the dark.”
“You’re correct in one thing: one condition for keeping your head will be that you resign your position immediately. And I want you to stand at my side when I make a speech to the people informing them that the era of the gods is over and the era of man has come. The people of Vantok deserve to know the truth they have thus far been prevented from hearing.”
“Truth?” Ferguson spat the word like a curse, showing anger for the first time. “Listen to your words, Your Majesty! You sound like an idealistic fool rather than the ruler of one of the world’s great cities. Never have I been more disappointed in you than at this moment. Have you considered the ramifications of this ‘honesty’ you propose? Do you think I’ve been silent about this matter out of a perverse desire to keep the people in ignorance?”
It was as stinging a reprimand as Azarak had received since taking the throne and, even though he sat in judgment of Ferguson, he felt as if their positions were reversed. “You go too far...”
“I don’t go far enough! Let me enlighten you, Your Majesty. Let me gaze into the future and tell you where your fine, noble sentiments will lead us. You seem the kind to believe in simplistic concepts like good and evil. Well, what you propose is evil. It’s vile, destructive, and pointless. It could result not only in the end of Vantok but could provoke a calamity from which all of civilization would never recover. You would jeopardize everything for the sake of a principle? If that isn’t evil, I don’t know what is.”
“Evil? You call me evil? You, who would risk bringing devastation upon Vantok for a gamble?”
“Are we now going argue which one of us is more likely to bring humankind to the brink of oblivion? If you make this bold speech, your words will throw Vantok into anarchy, if not civil war. Some will disbelieve your assertion, which will be seen by many as ludicrous, and you will lose their loyalty. Some who accept your proclamation will fall into a state of despair, uncertain how to live or whether life is in fact worth living. Lawlessness will become an epidemic that a depleted and demoralized Watch will be unable to curb. The streets will run red with blood. The riots of Basingham will be minor by comparison. The violence there occurred when a lesser priest gave validation to rumors of the gods’ departure. How much more damning if the secular ruler of the most celebrated city in the South made a statement to the same effect?”
“Wouldn’t you agree, as one who stood as humanity’s link to the divine, that people deserve to understand that the gods they worship are no longer there? That their prayers won’t be answered because there’s no one to hear them?”
“Some prayers will still seem to be answered, if only by happenstance. People need gods. They need faith. They need to believe in something bigger than themselves. It gives them succor when the world around them seems to be collapsing. They don’t want truth. Those who desire it can seek it out. There’s no upside to making a speech declaring the gods to be dead unless it’s to sate a need within yourself. On the contrary, the best way to elevate morale is to maintain a fiction that they still exist.”
“You think we should lie to the populace?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. There’s a long and honored tradition of leaders, both secular and religious, withholding information from the citizenry. It’s easy enough to conceal an undesirable truth. When the rumor first surfaced, it created great unease but, because the Temple never confirmed it and continued to function much as it always had, the majority of Vantok’s populace was able to put it aside. Now, if we assert that the wizards are gifts from the gods - which, indeed, they are - we can strengthen men’s faith rather than weakening it. That will make them more malleable. They will face an uncertain future with fortitude rather than fear and despair.”
“So, instead of ceding all power to the Crown, you believe it should remain divided.”
“Place the Temple in a subordinate position to the Crown if you think that best. My concern is the pursuit of balance, not petty things like who has the loudest voice in the governance of the city. With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don’t think you understand the full gravity of the situation we face. There are no more gods. There is no ‘greater power’ standing between us and oblivion. And there’s every reason to believe a malevolent force out there seeks our annihilation.”
Azarak disliked being called parochial as much as he disliked the superior, lecturing tone Ferguson had adopted. It was as if he was ten years old again, being scolded by a tutor for not learning his lesson or failing to apply reason to a hypothetical situation. The problem was, they had often been correct. Was that the case now? Were his plans short-sighted?
“It is likely that our adversaries seek not only dominion over this continent but over realms beyond. Without a divine buffer against whatever may be happening in The Otherverse, we stand
on the edge of a cliff that could crumble beneath us at any moment. Imagine all that raw power at the beck of a human being. He could become a god but without wisdom and forbearance.”
The speech was remarkable for its frankness; Azarak couldn’t recall Ferguson ever being so straightforward. Thinking back to the reading and research he had done before Sorial was unveiled as Ferguson’s choice for Vantok’s wizard, Azarak recalled mentions of The Otherverse. He had never fully understood their meaning but the implications of a man entering The Otherverse were couched in the direst of language. From within The Otherverse, the primal energies that made magic possible could be manipulated in their most basic form without the need for elemental synergy.
“For the moment, Your Majesty, I can do no more than act the penitent and advise. My power has been stripped away. I tell you this: the surest way to lose your throne is to proclaim a ‘truth’ that the majority of your subjects don’t want to hear. You’re already embroiled in a war with an unruly nobility that opposes your policies of taxation, austerity, and conscription. Declaring the gods to be dead would provide them with ammunition and allies in their quest to usurp the Crown. Maintaining the status quo and showcasing Sorial as a gift from the gods will bolster your support and quell your enemies - at least those within the city. You should be preparing for a war against outside forces, not those within Vantok. Be a king: use all the tools at your disposal and stop being so damn sentimental about the ramifications of making a mistake.”
* * *
“Where is Sorial and when will he return to Vantok?” asked Justin.
Ariel shrugged, the gesture barely noticeable because of the oversized robes she favored. She didn’t have an answer. She had just spent time in the North at the ruins of the city Ibitsal, but he wasn’t there - or at least he had no longer been there when she arrived. Indications were that she had missed him by perhaps a day or two at most. But she at least had discovered his reason for visiting the icy wasteland. If he served no other purpose, Sorial had removed one item from Ariel’s list of things to do before she died.
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 22
