He was being watched. Faces, none familiar and all hostile, stared out of the smoky gloom at him. Their expressions varied - grim, avaricious, angry, vengeful - but none gave Azarak cause to be optimistic. The dwindling sunlight was a testimony to the arrival of dusk. He had been unconscious for perhaps four hours, maybe less. The normal scents of Vantok, so familiar to him, had been obliterated; everything stank of fire and ashes. He noticed soot staining the clothing and skin of many of the men watching him. Above and beyond the buildings comprising the arena’s perimeter, he could see flashes of ruddy light - ghostly flickers of fire reflected against the low-hanging clouds of smoke. Parts of Vantok were ablaze. Fitting for the new domain of The Lord of Fire.
A circle had been cleared around Azarak. Although hundreds, perhaps even thousands, had gathered, none came closer than fifty feet until one man stepped forward to address him.
The thing that surprised the king the most about his opponent was how frail he appeared. Atop Mount Vantok, Azarak had only glimpsed The Lord of Fire. Now, he saw him as clearly as the failing light would permit. He looked no different from any other man; had Azarak encountered him in the street, he wouldn’t have given him a second look. Justin was weak, sickly, and appeared older than his actual age. There was nothing about him, except perhaps his deep, resonant voice that marked him as a wielder of great powers. In a way, the ordinariness was almost disappointing.
“Welcome back to wakefulness, Your Majesty. We couldn’t proceed without your attendance and attention.” Justin’s voice dripped with sarcasm and contempt. There would be no mercy here. His eyes, deep brown with hints of orange flickering in the pupils, were hard and cold.
Azarak chose to remain silent. What was there for him to say at a time like this? He was entirely in this man’s power. Even if he could break free of his bonds - an option made impossible by the weakness in his shoulder - where could he go with an entire army ringing him?
“I’m sure you wonder about your army. Understandable - a commander’s first thought is always for those who serve under him. Those that survive - small bands, mostly - are scattered in all different directions. A good many had the misfortune to fall victim to the trap you constructed to ensnare my army. Final casualties were fairly heavy, I’m afraid. It’s difficult to be precise but you lost perhaps six thousand. Most of them burned at the hands of my djinn or experienced a firsthand encounter with a dragon. I can’t take credit for that ally - he was brought to me by the djinn’s king.”
Azarak closed his eyes and bowed his head. To an onlooker, it might have appeared he was praying. Six thousand. Three quarters of his army. So many dead in service of a debacle. And this was a battle he had thought would be close. His ineptitude, his inexperience, his lack of vision had brought them to this. There had been ample opportunity to plan. He had known for years that this invasion was coming. The result couldn’t have been worse. Even with Sorial and Alicia at his side to the end, he doubted the eventual outcome would have been much different. Justin and his allies were too strong. His arrogance and lack of respect for the enemy had led him to this point.
“For me, Vantok is but a stepping stone. A small bridge to greater conquests. Few of those will require battles the likes of the one fought here, although Obis will be a challenge. I’ve been ruthless in this first engagement so I can be generous in the future. Once word has spread of what transpired this day in Vantok, armies will quail to face me on the field of battle. Towns and cities will surrender. I’ll be welcomed as a great force for unification rather than a tyrant. Still, for Vantok to be a proper object lesson, I must take full possession of it. Yes, quarters are burning now, but enough will remain. The palace is mostly untouched, as is the temple. Not that any of the priests will be left alive to use it as a place of worship. It appears none of those pious fools made good their escapes with the obvious exception of the prelate. But I never expected to meet my old master in this setting.
“By defeating your army in battle, I’ve become the rightful occupant of the throne. King Justin of Vantok. That’s my title. Unfortunately, few out there will honor it so long as there is a pretender by the name of Azarak. They will insist that you, not I, deserve to wear the crown and sit on the throne. That can’t be allowed. So I must take the only step possible to stifle that argument.
“My army doesn’t take prisoners, even august ones, and you aren’t valuable as a bargaining chip. Your worth lies in the capital your death can bring to me. But you’re a valiant foe. You came against me when you might as easily have run. Bards will no doubt one day sing tales of you and your tragic stand. I have no voice for lyrics and have never written a song. Instead, I offer you what I can give: a swift, almost painless death. A quick, clean execution. My entire army is here to witness it. They fill the streets. Within a week, news of your death will circulate throughout the South. Add two more weeks, and it will be gossiped about in the streets of Obis. But yours will be a glorious end, not an ignominious one. You won’t have your head struck off or a noose tightened around your neck. Your body will be purified and consumed by fire. There’s no greater way for a man to die than that. Have you anything to say? Last words? Final requests?”
So this was it. Azarak looked back on his life and, despite a cavalcade of regrets, there was room for some measure of satisfaction. He had made a difference. Perhaps not enough of a difference to save his city, but the final chapter in Justin’s story hadn’t yet been written. Others would take over the authorship now: Myselene, Gorton, Alicia, and, if he lived, Sorial. Azarak didn’t know what the afterlife held or if indeed there was an afterlife, but he acknowledged that he was about to join others he cared about - his father, his mother, his first wife, and Toranim - in whatever place or state they occupied. The concerns of this world and this war were no longer his.
“I’ve nothing to say except that, whatever your goal may be, there are many good people who will oppose it. The lesson they learned B016IWSUNM from Vantok may not be the one you hope for.”
Justin smiled. It was more a sneer than an expression of goodwill. “You’ve made peace with yourself, Your Majesty. Many don’t find such contentment at the end of all things. That’s good.”
It only hurt for a moment. Fire, bright and greedy, flared into existence across Azarak’s skin. It licked at him, its touch briefly inviting before turning invasive as it stripped away flesh and turned tissue to charcoal and ashes. His blood boiled and his mind lost all capacity for rational thought. The pain - a sharp, brutal, bone-deep agony - came quickly then slipped away just as suddenly. Blackness swam in to rescue the king of Vantok. He was taken into its bosom, allowed to bathe in its coolness, and carried away. In this lifetime, he knew no more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: THE TEARS OF A QUEEN
The nights on the plains could be long and lonely for a solo traveler, but Sorial and Alicia had each other. In the end, that was all either of them needed. They traveled after dark, letting the moon and stars guide their way while riding on the back of the rock wyrm. By day, they rested to restore their strength and, in Sorial’s case, recover from a battle that had further crippled him. Somewhere along the way, Alicia had sneaked into a small village and stolen some clothing so, although their garments were frayed, tattered, and ill-fitting, at least they weren’t forced to face their journey naked.
The rock wyrm had survived its part in the battle with the efreet but not without injury. A swath of scales on its back and right side had been torn away, exposing seared skin beneath. A chunk of flesh and muscle had been ripped from an area on the underside of its neck; fire damage was evident there as well. By Sorial’s estimation, if the fight had continued for even a few seconds longer, the rock wyrm would have perished.
Sorial couldn’t walk but, thanks to Alicia’s ministrations, his pain was manageable. The arm gave him more discomfort than the leg and it was requiring another adjustment to become accustomed to missing not only a hand but the entire limb. Gripping the rock wyrm with one arm was d
ifficult but the creature moved slowly to reduce the potential of Sorial being thrown from its back.
Although physically fine, Alicia’s emotional state was fragile. She had taken most of the previous days’ failures and potential failures upon herself, convincing herself that if Vantok had fallen, which seemed likely given the circumstances, she was in part responsible. She also blamed herself for Sorial’s injuries, believing that if she had overruled him and accompanied him in the first place, they would have been able to defeat the efreet more cleanly and perhaps returned to Vantok in time to stop Justin.
“Where do you want to go?” asked Sorial. After three days of aimless wandering, it was time for them to make a decision. Any more delaying would cross a line between recovery and self-indulgence.
“They need us,” said Alicia. But where were ‘they?’ Vantok, Basingham, or elsewhere?
“Yes,” agreed Sorial. “But they need us strong and healthy, not broken and heartsick. My arm and leg ain’t going to grow back, but your spirit... One of the things I love most about you is your tenacity, your ability to overcome adversity.”
“Some things aren’t that easy to overcome.”
“We ain’t got the luxury of that answer. While we’re out here, not committing, the world is moving on. Time don’t care about whether we’re hurting or not. If you believe Ferguson, the gods entrusted the safekeeping of the world to us. I’d say we ain’t doing a good job of it.”
“You’re going to remind me about duty again.”
“No. What I once said about duty is horseshit. Whatever we do, we do not out of obligation but love. Love for those who didn’t survive. Love for those who might die in the days ahead. Love for your father and my mother. Love for Vagrum and Annie. And especially love for one another.”
“And what if I said that all I want is to travel to The White World, find an underground cave where fire can’t find us, and live out the rest of my life there with you?”
“I’d say we could do it. But would either of us ever be happy? Wouldn’t we just be existing, waiting for death because we’re too cowardly to seek it out? I think I’d rather face Justin with the sure knowledge that he’d incinerate me than wait around in a dark hole while guilt eats away at me.”
Alicia’s smile was wan. “When did you get so philosophical, stableboy?”
“When I realized I was going to spend the rest of my life with the spoiled little girl who hid from mice in my stable. What’s it to be: Vantok or Basingham?”
The smile, feeble and fleeting as it had been, vanished. “Basingham. Vantok is too dangerous. If Azarak won there, a little detour won’t matter. But if Justin is in control, we’d be walking into another trap. At a minimum, some of our people will be at Basingham. They can brief us about what happened. And if Azarak is there, we can plan our next move.”
“And we come bearing important information: how to vanquish a djinn. There are bound to be more of them, although hopefully none as strong.”
“We’re going to have to work on your methods, though. Between the two of us, we only have so many arms and legs.” They shared a smile at that. It was sad but genuine.
They spent the remainder of the day lying next to each other in the cool grass, shaded from the sun by the rock wyrm, who guarded them like a sentinel. They dozed but didn’t sleep, kissed and cuddled but didn’t make love, and soaked up the warmth and simple beauty of this place. They were grateful to have this day to re-connect - something they knew so many others didn’t have. As night fell, they rose to dine on nuts and berries then clambered aboard the rock wyrm.
For the first time since the battle with the efreet, they had a clear path - to return to the devastated lands they had left behind. And they had a clear goal - to employ their powers to restore order to a world abandoned by gods but still inhabited by men. Ultimately, the journey would lead them into direct conflict with The Lord of Fire and this time, there would be no in-between resolution - either they would end his mad quest to breach The Otherverse or die trying.
* * *
While in the public’s view, Myselene was the picture of regal dignity. Her face was serene and composed. People drew courage from what they believed to be her strength. Alone in her tent at night, however, it was a different matter. She wept silent tears and hugged her pillows close, wishing brokenly that they were Azarak. The first rumors of his death had reached her less than a day out of Vantok. Confirmation came shortly thereafter from one of Gorton’s spies who had remained in the city and observed the execution. It was slim comfort to Myselene to learn that her husband had died well. The only fact that mattered to her was that he was no more.
Until now, she never thought of leadership as a burden. Azarak’s death and the fall of Vantok had changed that. Now, she was not only a lone ruler, but the queen of a people without a home. Queen-in-Exile, they would call her. And The Lord of Fire would seek to eliminate her. While she lived, his claim to the throne was contested. The first action of most usurpers was to kill every relative of the previous ruler. Azarak had no heirs of his blood but she represented an unbroken line of succession and the false rumors of her pregnancy would make her an imperative target.
Gorton had urged that she race ahead of the column using fast horses to transport her to Basingham in advance of her people. She had refused, wanting to ride with the refugees, at their head, where she belonged. It was what Azarak would have done. So she had sent Gorton on ahead to make the necessary arrangements with King Durth. With his knowledge of what had transpired in and around Vantok during the battle, the chancellor was in a better position to meet with the Basingham council than she was.
All color and flavor had been drained from Myselene’s life. She flashed back on her last night with Azarak as if the memory of that encounter would provide the nourishment necessary to keep her going. It was impossible to acknowledge that he was gone. Departing Vantok, she had recognized the danger even though most of the reports from the front had been cautiously optimistic. But she had believed that, somehow, he would find a way to survive. In the worst case, they would rule together in exile. There was a certain romantic notion to such an arrangement. There was nothing romantic about ruling by herself and sleeping alone in a cold bed.
Myselene had never before experienced true grief. Over the course of her life, many of those she had known had died, including the entirety of her family, but she had always been gripped by a strange sense of detachment. Their existences hadn’t substantially enriched her life and their absences wouldn’t diminish it. Such wasn’t the case with Azarak. In the short time she had been with him, he had become one of the pillars upon which her life rested. Now, with him gone, the foundation was unsteady. And, for so long, she had not thought herself to be in love with him...
Nymia, her longtime servant and confidante from Obis, poked her head through the opening to her mistress’ tent. “Your Majesty, Chancellor Gorton has returned. He asks to speak with you.”
Myselene sat up, smoothed her stained traveling frock and dashed the tears from her cheeks. By the redness of her nose and the moistness of her eyes, Gorton would know she had been crying. Having spent time with her since the king’s death, he understood how disconsolate she was in private, and she wasn’t afraid to show weakness around him. But to restore Azarak’s legacy, she had to remain strong in everyone else’s eyes. It was hard being a rock of certainty when one’s heart was broken.
“Your Majesty,” said Gorton, entering and bowing low. He looked exhausted but then so did everyone. Myselene felt like she was in the midst of a nightmare that might never end. There was no one to wrap his arms around her, whisper that it would be all right, and awaken her.
“Chancellor, what news from Basingham?”
“King Durth sends his condolences, as might be expected. He actually seems sincere although he had no cause to like your husband. Still, I think Vantok’s fall has shaken him and the news of who leads the invading army has made him fearful of what might happen whe
n Justin comes back to the city of his youth. Durth knew him as a boy and called him a ‘vicious little shit.’ Not the most ringing endorsement of Justin’s character.”
“An accurate one, though,” said Myselene. Perhaps even an understatement.
“Durth informs me that Basingham will continue to recognize you as the rightful ruler of Vantok and, when you arrive, you will be accorded the rights and privileges of a sitting queen. He will honor the refugee agreement for all citizens and militia members from Vantok at no additional cost.”
“It all sounds quite reasonable.”
“Yes, it does, but there’s something you need to be aware of. Basingham wants your wizards. Actually, ‘wants’ isn’t the right word. ‘Needs’ would be better. King Durth would like for Sorial and Alicia to assume a position for him similar to the one they served for Vantok.”
“That’s not my decision. They are free citizens... if they’re still alive.” Thus far, there had been no word from either.
“I informed His Majesty of that but he remains steadfast in his belief that if you command them, they will switch their allegiance. Much depends on this. Without a wizard, there’s little chance Basingham could stand against Justin. No chance at all, in fact. Their army is less than half of Vantok’s so the likelihood is that they would seek an accommodation with Justin. Part of any such agreement would involve you being turned over to The Lord of Fire. If Durth could secure the aid of Sorial and Alicia, he might decide to fight. He has no desire to cede control of his city to a usurper and realizes that, regardless of the terms specified in an agreement of surrender, his head would be struck off in short order.”
“So I’m about to enter a hornet’s nest?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And I’m sorry about that. When I set things in motion to introduce you to King Azarak, I never imagined it would come to this. If I had it to do over again...”
The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) Page 54
