The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  “I intend to ask him for her hand.” He owed both Alicia and Carannan that much. He suspected what the answer would be, and what would have to come next, but perhaps there was the slimmest of chances. Alicia was unwilling to relinquish her fantasy that Sorial might be the one to whom she was betrothed.

  “He’ll have you arrested and lock her away until her real husband comes to claim her,” predicted Rexall. “But at least you’re not thinking of running away with her.”

  “She deserves better’n that, but if it’s our only choice…”

  “Sor, give her up!” pleaded Rexall. “Come with me today. We’ll find a few willing girls and they’ll make you forget her.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t want to forget me,” said a tart voice from over Rexall’s left shoulder. Alicia, dressed in a striking sapphire dress with a darker blue cloak draped over her shoulders, approached, flanked at a discreet distance by Vagrum and two guards. Her protectors nodded amiably to Sorial. He returned their silent greetings with a grin.

  With considerably more courtliness than Rexall had ever observed from his friend, Sorial bowed to Alicia before taking her hand in his.

  “You’re a bad influence,” she stated, staring daggers at Rexall. Turning to Sorial, she said, “I suppose you told him. Sometimes, stableboy, I wonder if straw has replaced your brains. Our plans are meant to be a secret. If we have to flee in the night…”

  “…I’m hoping Rexall will come with us,” finished Sorial. Alicia’s eyes widened with shock. This was something they hadn’t discussed.

  Rexall was equally nonplused. “Go with you? On the run from the duke?”

  “Rex, how many times have we talked about it? Leaving Vantok on some great adventure in the North. This could be our chance.”

  “I appreciate how you put it - makes it sound almost fun. But as I recall, our talks didn’t mention your lover or her father’s entire guard corps in pursuit.”

  “I’d like you to come with us.”

  Alicia’s expression indicated that she very much did not want Rexall to come with them. That decided it for him. With a smirk, he said, “What the hell… things are getting too dangerous to stay in this city anyway. Ain’t often you get a chance like this!”

  The three of them spent the day together, but they spoke no more about the future. Rexall and Alicia held out hope that Sorial would change his mind, albeit about different things. But they remained silent, believing that now wasn’t the best time to attempt persuasion - not while the other was present.

  The trio wandered the streets, which became progressively more clogged with revelers as the day wore on. Later, they slipped into a tavern for the traditional mugs of Midwinter’s Cheer, a brew that tasted suspiciously like spiced, watered-down beer. After dusk, they gathered near the marketplace to watch a display of fireworks. That’s when Rexall left them to pursue an attractive brunette who had flashed him a welcoming smile. When all the flashes and bangs were over, Sorial escorted Alicia back to the duke’s estate. Once they were within sight of the mansion, the guards headed for the barracks and Vagrum melted into the darkness - there but not there.

  “I think I’ve waited long enough,” said Alicia, her hand in Sorial’s. She turned to look into his eyes, but could see nothing beyond the shadow of a silhouette in the moonless night. The hand not grasping his slipped into his trousers, dexterous fingers hunting.

  “Two more weeks? It ain’t such a long time,” said Sorial, but his body contradicted his words. If Alicia was as eager tonight as she had been at the river… He had never wanted anyone this much, not even Annie. The touch of her fingers weakened the iron resolve engendered by Vagrum’s proximity.

  “Two weeks!” exclaimed an exasperated Alicia, her hand becoming almost rough as she stroked him. “This is driving me crazy! Every night, lying in bed alone, knowing you’re standing just outside my door… Why wait? Unless you don’t want me.”

  “Of course I want you!” Sorial’s voice was husky. “It’s killing me to know I could pull you down now…”

  Suddenly, Sorial found himself on the ground, Alicia astride him, her lips pressed against his. Surprised, it took Sorial a moment to respond, then he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him. Their bodies ground against each other seeking release despite the layers of interfering clothing.

  He pulled back before they passed the point of no return. “Not here,” he panted. “Not in a field or a barn or a stable. You deserve better.”

  “I deserve to feel you inside me,” she groaned, frustrated at his reticence. “Why are you worried about things like that? Do you think I care?”

  “Not now, you don’t. But sometime in the future, when you think back, you’ll care.”

  “You could get me with child tonight,” she said, her hands dancing between them, promising and persuading. “That would seal the bond between us. My father would have no choice then.”

  “We have to wait,” he said. “Two weeks.”

  Muttering some unladylike phrases, Alicia sat up next to him. After letting out a deep sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder and let the comfort of the darkness ebb through her. They stayed like that for a long time, letting seconds bleed into minutes. Eventually, when the warmth of their embrace gave way to the chill of the night, they rose and continued on to the mansion. Both were convinced they had a future together, although neither was certain how it would evolve.

  * * *

  The days following the Midwinter Day’s carnival were difficult for Sorial and Alicia. There were few opportunities for privacy, no chances to sip of their newfound intimacy. In front of others, they had to pretend their relationship was the same it had always been: friendly with an edge of rivalry. It was a difficult façade. The joy of one-upsmanship was gone. Each time he saw her, the ache was stronger. Sorial had never known it was possible to want a woman this much. He was constantly comparing what he felt for Alicia with what he had felt for Annie and finding those old feelings lacking.

  Vagrum watched them and Sorial suspected the big man was aware of the situation. The space he once gave Sorial and Alicia had contracted. Now, when the two were together in the stable, Vagrum waited just inside the door rather than outside, as had previously been his habit. That made even stealing a quick kiss awkward.

  “He knows,” said Sorial quietly as the two of them worked on a horse. Sorial was checking its shoes while Alicia brushed its coat.

  “I know. I think he was watching us that night and we didn’t realize it. But he didn’t tell my father or I would have been subjected to the ‘Sorial’s a good man but…’ lecture.”

  “He’s watching us now.”

  “No, he’s watching me. Specifically, he’s watching between my legs to make sure what’s there stays intact. You wouldn’t believe the importance that’s placed on an unsullied maidenhood in some noble marriages. If a peasant girl enjoys a few rolls in the hay before the happy day, it’s considered a way to gain experience. But if I go to my future husband’s bed in anything less than pristine condition, it will be a scandal.”

  Sorial was committed to stay the course. One more week. Only one more week. Then, for good or ill, they would know the depth of sacrifice necessary for them to be together.

  “You realize that once the betrothal is announced, I’ll be under closer surveillance than now. It’s traditional for my future husband to provide me with protection. You’ll be replaced by one of his men. Even seeing each other to say ‘hello’ will be difficult. If you think my movements are restricted now, wait until then. Planning to leave… If we’re going to run, we should do it now.”

  They argued about it for a while until Alicia, infuriated by his stubbornness, stormed off. When he noticed his charge’s disposition, Vagrum cast a disapproving glance in Sorial’s direction. The younger man shrugged and Vagrum raised an eyebrow before leaving in Alicia’s wake. That was the last Sorial saw of her until the next morning.

  He knew the moment she entered the stabl
e that something was wrong. She wore her worry like a cloak. As always, Vagrum followed; there was nothing in his demeanor that hinted at a problem.

  “We’re beaten,” spat Alicia. “Your indecisiveness has finished us.”

  “What is it?”

  “I overheard a conversation between my father and mother. I’m to be brought before the king next week for my Maturity. That’s when the betrothal is to take place.”

  “So?”

  “So? So? Don’t you see? Didn’t the gods give you eyes?”

  Sorial shook his head, bewildered.

  “Think about it. The king is a widower. It’s him.”

  “You’re overreacting. It can’t be him.” Sorial’s words were calm but he felt as if the world had suddenly shifted under his feet. What was it Rexall had said? There are rumors the king is considering her for his bride.

  “Overreacting?? Why else would the king - a man under pressure to remarry - be at the betrothal of a duke’s daughter? That’s not normal. In fact, I’ve never heard of it happening before. It would also explain why there’s so little concern about us. What girl, given the choice, wouldn’t throw away an attachment to a stableboy to be the queen? Or at least that’s the way they think.”

  Her logic was impeccable. Sorial felt sick to his stomach.

  “I’ll be moved to the palace immediately. Tradition would argue for a two season engagement, but the king has no heirs so he needs to get his queen with child as soon as possible. I’m sure no one would object if he dispensed with tradition to marry me two minutes after the announcement of the betrothal. And the Temple wouldn’t admit me as a penitent vowing chastity. Not even the prelate would cross the king in this matter.”

  She started crying. Sorial flinched, wanting to embrace her but knowing they were being watched. He glanced at Vagrum. The guardian was scowling. Then, very deliberately, Vagrum turned his back.

  At first, Alicia resisted Sorial’s hug, but she eventually melted into it, clinging to him with a death-grip.

  “We’ve lost,” she murmured. “It’s over.”

  “No,” said Sorial. There had to be a way. He would find a way. “I ain’t giving up now. I don’t know how but I’ll make this right.” He hoped the words sounded less hollow to her ears than to his own.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE COUNCIL’S ADVICE

  Two weeks following Midwinter’s Day, Azarak was able to put his dalliance with scholarly pursuits behind him. If there was more to learn, he didn’t know where to look. Although there weren’t many contemporary dissertations on the topic of wizards (outside the “folklore” category), archaic volumes were replete with references. By now, he had read every book in Vantok’s royal library about the subject, as well as various tomes and scrolls borrowed from the archives of the other great cities. The only references forbidden to him were the “secret” scrolls kept in the temple - scrolls whose existence Ferguson denied.

  During the past few seasons, Azarak had gone into seclusion, leaving the day-to-day running of the city to his chancellor. He still made ceremonial appearances at important events but he had cancelled his regular public audiences, citing important matters of state. Most assumed he was working on a plan to curb Vantok’s lawlessness. Few would have been happy to learn the real reason.

  “Your Majesty.” Toranim intercepted the king on his way to his private chambers.

  “What news of the city today? Has it slipped into the Otherverse?”

  Toranim favored him with a quizzical expression.

  “Ignore me, my friend. Too much reading about things I still don’t understand.”

  “The council continues to block plans for expanding the Watch through conscription. This is the fourth time in the past year. Some influential nobles are arguing that it will cripple the city financially and the guild masters are equally obstructive. Crime is an epidemic, but they don’t see that. It would be helpful, Your Majesty, if you were to address the council.”

  Azarak made an noise of annoyance. The council had taken full advantage of his absence, usurping power to which they could claim no right. They were an advisory body, not a governing one. He supposed he had only himself to blame. Men of ambition never let vacuums of power go unfilled.

  “The time has come, my friend, for me to regain control of this city. I have too long been sealed in my library, poring over dusty scrolls. If war and cataclysm come from a supernatural menace, there won’t be a more prepared ruler in all the land.” Did that mean anything? Having knowledge and understanding how to apply it were different matters. And what of the Otherverse, an ominous term often repeated but never explained?

  Toranim allowed relief to suffuse his features. If nothing else, the past weeks of stewardship had made him glad the throne was Azarak’s, not his. The pettiness of the disputes and the spitefulness of those pressing their claims had become a millstone around the chancellor’s conscience.

  “Make a proclamation that I will resume my regular public audiences next week. For now, I must rein in my recalcitrant council. This dithering over conscription will cease. Draft a pronouncement to be read two days hence preparing for an expansion of the Watch and set a meeting with the commanders so they can be aware what will be expected of them.”

  “But the council…”

  “The council will do as they’re told! I’m the king. Don’t worry, Toranim, I have some thoughts that will soften the blow but, one way or the other, this will go forward. We’re far behind where we should be. Pray to the gods, if they still exist, that we haven’t fallen so far behind we’ll never be able to recover.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty.”

  “One more thing: summon Prelate Ferguson to the palace tomorrow morning. I want to see him before I do battle with my council.” And he suspected it would be a battle - men like those seated on the council didn’t cede power easily once having usurped it. But Azarak was determined, even if it meant taking extreme action. He wouldn’t be the first king to summarily dismiss an entire council. It hadn’t been done in centuries, but there were precedents. The nobility and merchants might be nonplused, but the common people and the Watch would support him.

  Later that night, unable to quiet his mind, Azarak sat in a chair next to the fire instead of lying abed. As he gazed into the flames, he considered all he had learned during his long hours perusing some of humanity’s most cryptic literature.

  The trouble was differentiating fact from fiction, separating truth from myth and speculation. Much of the material was contradictory, but there was enough consensus for him to be sure of a few basics.

  According to legend, there had been a time when wizards were as common as nobles. They had existed alongside but separate from their human brethren, ruled over by the Wizard-King Malbranche and his brother (and successor), Altemiak. This was a fabrication of imaginative historians. Wizards had indeed walked the face of the planet but never in great numbers. At no time had there been more than four. Each wizard had been tied to one of the elements: air, water, earth, or fire. Only when a wizard had died could another take his or her place. Whether Malbranche or Altemiak had lived was a matter of conjecture but, if they had, they hadn’t presided over a thriving college of colleagues.

  Many wizards came to wish they had never activated their talents. Those with untapped abilities could lead a normal life, never the wiser about what they could have been. Once triggered, however, the powers demanded use. An active wizard couldn’t reject his abilities. In ancient accounts, wizards spoke of a hunger for magic that exceeded the appetites for food, drink, and sex. The longer the power was denied, the greater the hunger became. The curse was that every use of magic, no matter how trivial, drained vitality from the wizard’s body. Although the raw source was siphoned from something cryptically referred to as the “Otherverse”, magic leeched away the user’s life force. Ascetic wizards, who spent their lives in a hell of magical abstinence, might live a normal human life span, but most wizards were burned out before having reached their
age of Double Maturity, and many were dead long before that. Wizards were more inclined to indulge every whim than take a path of moderation.

  The key to being a wizard was to learn the most economical ways in which to manipulate the elements. The less magic used in an act, the less damage to the user. Without guidance, no practitioner would be able to apply the restraint necessary for a long, productive life. If wizards were to be reborn in this day and age as a way to mitigate the end of the gods’ stewardship, Azarak felt nothing but sorrow for them. Wizards were to be honored, to be sure, but also to be pitied.

  The capacity to use magic was an inherited trait. There were many instances of “wizard dynasties,” where the power ran through bloodlines, with generation after generation surviving the portal test that culled the magical from the non-magical. Wizards often married other wizards, increasing the likelihood that their children would have the ability. While there could never be more than four active wizards at any time, there were untold numbers of latents, each awaiting his or her turn.

  One of Ferguson’s tasks had been to trace those venerable bloodlines through the centuries and determine if any remained active. The alternative, randomly picking young men and women to undergo a test where the price for failure was death, amounted to an inhumane lottery. But, considering what could be rising in the Deep South, there might not be another option. If a warmongering foe arose in The Forbidden Lands, the difference between having a wizard defender and not having one could mean the difference between Vantok’s continued existence or its fall.

  Azarak bowed his head. His people clamored for him to find a queen. Perhaps he could make a good match with the Princess Myselene of Obis or the daughter of one of Vantok’s influential nobles. The goal, of course, wasn’t Azarak’s personal happiness but the sons and daughters who would provide a solid line of succession. Yet the king worried about the grim legacy he might leave to the future kings and queens of Vantok. With the future so bleak, might it be kinder to have no children at all?