The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  When he was done with his accounting, she steered the conversation in a different, more personally meaningful direction. “Vagrum, have you heard anything about Sorial?” No one seemed to know anything about him - not the priests, her father, or any of the few others who came to see her. Either that or they knew but weren't saying. Trapped behind the gilt bars of her cage, she felt isolated and forgotten.

  “No, Milady. Nor have any of the other guards. He haven’t been seen or heard of in weeks.”

  “But my father is looking for him?”

  “I believe so.” There was a note of caution in his voice.

  “Has he sent you into the city searching?”

  “Aye. But I didn’t see him or meet anyone else willing to admit seeing him.”

  “Are you betraying my father by telling me this?”

  “I don’t believe so, Milady. Your father never said nothing about not telling you. It ain’t a secret.”

  “Vagrum, if it came down to a choice, to whom would your loyalty fall: my father or me?”

  “Milady?” Vagrum’s voice was full of consternation. She was testing him and he knew it.

  “It’s a simple enough question. You told me last time you were here that you would do anything to regain my trust. I’m asking how far that ‘anything’ might go.”

  “Surely there wouldn’t never be a need to side with one against the other…”

  “Assume there might be.” It was a more plausible circumstance than the big man might think. If Sorial’s decision put him at odds with her father, Alicia knew where her loyalty would lie. What about Vagrum’s?

  He was quiet for a long while. “If it came to it, I’m your man, Milady. First and foremost. If you’ll trust me again.”

  Now for a question to excite the ears and imaginations of any listening spies. “If I was to ask you to help me escape the temple and get to Sorial, would you do it?”

  “What you’re asking…”

  “I’m not asking anything. I’m proposing a possibility. Nothing more. But I expect an honest answer. You said you’d never lie to me again.”

  “I did at that, Milady. Escape from the temple wouldn’t be easy, but if I could arrange it or help in any way, I would.”

  “Even if my father expressly forbade it?”

  “Even then.”

  Alicia realized he could just be saying what he thought she wanted to hear, but she didn’t think so. His tone and expression were sincere. She didn’t think he was capable of lying boldly and directly to her. That wasn’t in his character, at least insofar as she could determine it.

  So it appeared she had an ally. Anyone listening would know that as well so she would never use him in the way she had proposed. But there were other possibilities.

  “You love him, don’t you?” asked Vagrum suddenly.

  Alicia was momentarily taken aback by the question. “Yes.” Her voice was quiet. “But you know that. You were there for everything that happened.” The silent watcher whose eyes missed nothing, he had likely known the truth of the matter before either she or Sorial had realized it. “How much of it was your doing?”

  “Not much. The duke made it clear he wanted to ‘encourage’ a friendship between you and the lad. It didn’t make much sense to me - a lady and a stableboy - but I figured your father had his reasons. Turns out I was right, I guess.”

  “The night we snuck off to the riverbank, the night the estate was attacked…”

  “I followed. I pretended being asleep when you left your room, then came after you at a distance. Your father suspected something like that would happen sometime and warned me to be ready. He didn’t want you stopped, just followed. Followed and kept safe and…chaste.”

  “You know this thing they want Sorial to do… it could kill him.”

  Vagrum nodded. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way. I like the lad. Have from the beginning. He got a hard path in front of him.”

  A hard path, and not one of his own choosing. She was frightened he might do something rash, something that would get himself killed. Something like making a deal with those who had put him in his present situation. He said he'd be back but she almost hoped he had run far, far away.

  “You said once that you felt a kinship with Sorial…”

  “Aye, Milady. I were a rootless youth like him, sold into serfdom and forced to muck out stables and clean streets. I’ve been where he’s been.”

  “In his position, what would you do next?”

  “Next? There ain’t no question. I’d do what they asked of me. Any risk, even if there was little chance of succeeding, would be worth taking if the reward was spending the rest of my days with the woman I loved. Thoughts of magic and power might drive other men, but they don’t interest Sorial. They’re just a means to an end: you. They knew that, or at least suspected it, and that’s why they used you as the snare. ’Course it won’t hurt that he’ll be the most influential man in the city.”

  Alicia bowed her head so that Vagrum couldn’t read the concern in her eyes. What he had articulated was what she was afraid Sorial would do. He had to be stopped, no matter what the cost. Fifteen years was a long time, but dead was forever.

  * * *

  The blistering heat had withered the foliage lining the paths in the temple’s inner courtyard. Grass was browned and the flowers were dead. In the old days, the courtyard would have been alive with color and the promise of new life. Now, it was burnt out, and Summer was yet weeks away.

  Alicia wandered the courtyard shoulder to shoulder with a companion. Sweat dotted her brow and ran in tiny rivulets beneath her unbound hair and down her neck. Nevertheless, she couldn’t risk this conversation being overheard. Not when she was sure Rexall knew more about Sorial than any other person in Vantok.

  “Can we speak freely here?"

  Alicia nodded. “We won’t be overheard. Have a care, though. Many of the priests are excellent lip readers and I’d wager a month of your wages someone’s watching.”

  Rexall stifled a smile, thinking Alicia overestimated what the innkeeper paid him. “I’d expect no less from your caretakers. Nothing said or done in the prelate’s realm remains a secret from him. He ain’t only got spies, but spies to spy on the spies, and more spies to spy on them. People think his business is religion but it ain’t. It’s intelligence gathering. You could go to the farthest outpost in the North, well beyond Syre, and Ferguson would have a man in place there feeding him information on a regular basis.”

  She covered her mouth as if the stifle a cough. “I assume this is about Sorial.”

  “You mean you don’t think I’d pay a visit merely for the pleasure of your company?”

  “You’d probably visit anyone with an opening between their legs.”

  Rexall smiled. “Though it may surprise you, a woman needs a little more to qualify for a roll in the hay.”

  “Such as?”

  “Tits. You don’t have them to speak of, so I’ll leave you to Sorial. He doesn’t seem to mind them invisible.”

  Alicia scowled but Rexall caught her glancing down at her chest. Strictly speaking, her breasts weren’t that small.

  “Do you have a message for me?” Alicia asked when she regained her composure. Sorial had said he would send someone. She had been hoping it would be someone else.

  “He’s still in the city,” said Rexall conversationally, stroking the beginnings of a mustache with his left thumb and forefinger. It seemed to be an unconscious gesture but was actually calculated to mask his lips from being read. “He never left. It’s surprising how easy it is to hide in the open. It would have been different if they made him a wanted man and started a manhunt, but the search is being kept low key. As far as we can tell, the only ones actively involved are your father’s guards, some of the priests, and perhaps a few select members of the Watch.”

  “And whoever Warburm has employed.”

  “There’s that. Sorial don’t know the names of his agents. But if Warburm locate
d Sorial via contacts within the thieves’ guild, he ain’t made it known.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “Occasionally. He’s got to be careful. I’m being watched, although it’s pretty easy for me to slip my watchers. They avoid whorehouses and those are some of my favorite places. I found an accommodating girl who’s willing to let Sorial and me talk while she’s pretending to service me.”

  “Pretending?”

  “Well, only pretending while Sorial’s there.”

  “Next time you see him, tell him we may have an ally in Vagrum. If it came to an escape, we might be able to convince him to help.”

  Rexall considered. “Escape ain’t in Sorial’s plans. Right now, he wants to give ’em a reason to sweat other than the heat. Eventually he’ll come into the open and negotiate.”

  “So he’s seriously thinking about accepting their challenge?" Exactly what Vagrum had predicted and what she feared. "It could kill him! No one has survived the wizard’s test in nine hundred years, and there’s no reason to believe that will change with Sorial. These people, my father included, are acting out of desperation, not because there’s a real chance that Sorial can pass the test. He may have the perfect heritage, but that means nothing!”

  “I’ve been telling him that for weeks. He ain’t listening. He’s convinced himself the only way he’ll be with you is to do what they need, though he wants to do it on his terms. He ignored my suggestion of what his next move should be.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Steal a horse and ride north as far and as fast as he can.”

  “Bad advice,” said Alicia. “If he steals a horse, that will give them a reason to declare him an outlaw.”

  “Hadn’t thought about that.”

  “He could hire himself out as a mercenary to guard a merchant’s caravan.”

  “He could, but he won’t. I told you, he ain’t going nowhere. For him, this is about when to approach Warburm and the others, not whether he’s gonna do it.”

  Alicia nibbled on her lower lip, worrying at it until it started to bleed. “I have to meet with him,” she decided.

  Rexall shook his head. “Not a good idea. It’d force him into the open. It ain’t as if you can sneak out of here and meet him in secret.”

  That much was true. If she could escape from the temple, it wouldn’t merely be for a clandestine rendezvous.

  “Tell him I forbid him to do this. Maybe that will make a difference.”

  Rexall laughed. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’ll do the trick. But there may be more to this than winning you. He actually believes them when they say something terrible’s gonna happen. He thinks waiting fifteen years ain’t an option because we’ll all be dead by then.”

  Alicia admitted she hadn’t given much consideration to the validity of the underlying threat. Recognizing its enormity, however, didn’t excuse the recklessness of the plot. Chasing dreams, fairy tales, and creatures of legend solved nothing, just as getting Sorial killed did no good for anyone. It might be different if they knew Sorial could be a wizard, but this was a blind act of desperation, a great maybe.

  “Give Sorial my message.”

  Rexall shrugged. “I'll do it when I see him, but don’t expect it to make any difference.”

  “And don’t let him leave the city without seeing me first. Once he’s come into the open, there won’t be a reason for him to avoid me. If he’s going to get himself killed on this fool’s errand, I want to tell him what I think of it to his face.”

  “I wish I could say he’s more likely to listen to you than me, but we both know there’s a streak of nobility in Sorial to match his stubbornness. Otherwise, you two would have been fucking like rabbits by now and you’d be carrying his child."

  “Remind him not to trust anyone. Ferguson will trade gold for information and he has a deep treasury. These are ruthless people. You’re right - there’s something irritatingly noble about Sorial - and they’ll use that against him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: A PRINCESS FROM THE NORTH

  Her Highness, the Royal Princess Myselene of Obis, had never been so uncomfortable in her sixteen years. Raised in the chilly northern climes, where “Summer” was the season when the ground softened enough for hardy vegetation to flourish, the furnace-like atmosphere of Vantok took her breath away as it reddened her pale skin and parched her throat. She had been excited about this trip south, which was years in the planning, but the heat had sapped as much of her enthusiasm as her energy.

  As she gazed out across the red-tiled and thatched rooftops of the city from the west-facing porch adjoining the spacious guest quarters she had been given for her stay, she was again reminded how different Vantok was from the city where she had lived her entire life. Obis was a wild, hard city where the men were either merchants or soldiers. The weather was too harsh to make the growing of plants more than a hobby. Here, farming was a principal occupation, although the fields were fallow at the moment.

  Myselene wandered through the huge open double doors separating the porch from her bedchamber. She gazed distractedly at her image in the looking glass mounted on the wall next to her changing table. She looked as bedraggled as she felt, with her normally full-bodied dark hair hanging limply over her shoulders, her ivory complexion blotched by red spots, and bruises underlining her violet eyes. The aquamarine dress she wore highlighted her curvy figure but was too hot for the climate. Rumor had it she was the greatest beauty in all the North. Rumor hadn’t seen her like this.

  It was disheartening that her physical appearance wasn’t at its best, since her sole reason for going on this adventure - as she had always envisioned a journey to the South - was to catch the eye of the king. As well-schooled in politics as she was, she recognized that her beauty would be a secondary enticement if King Azarak was to pick her to be his future queen, but the lure of physical appeal couldn’t be discounted. Azarak’s next marriage would be primarily about alliances and political capital. As such, her primary assets weren’t her full breasts or her wide hips; they were the opportunities of increased trade with Obis, something that would benefit both cities, especially if a protected route could be forged through The Broken Crags mountain range, where all but the largest and best-defended merchant caravans feared to venture.

  “Does Your Highness need something?” asked her maid, a girl of about as many years as her who had been “specially chosen” by Chancellor Toranim and the palace’s head housekeeper. That probably meant she was a spy. Myselene found her subservience annoying and wished the girl wasn’t always underfoot. There were servants in Obis, but not as many and they stayed out of the way until their presence was requested. This one hovered from dawn until dusk. Myselene had the peace of solitude only during evenings.

  The princess was about to demur, then changed her mind. “Find me a washbasin filled with the coolest water possible.” Cold water, she had learned, was more greatly prized during Summer than fine wine, but the palace stored barrels deep in the cellars, where the damnable heat didn’t reach.

  She had been given the morning to herself but was expected to spend the afternoon meeting with various local dignitaries. Once the core of the day’s heat was past, she would be given a tour of the city’s esteemed quarters. That would be followed by a private dinner with the king. It was important that she be at her best for the repast; it was unclear how many other opportunities she would have on her own with the object of her betrothal hunt.

  Thus far, she had met Azarak only once, when he had greeted her two days ago upon her arrival. Her initial impression had been positive: the portrait she had seen didn’t do him justice. He was more handsome in person, although he looked older. She supposed that was what ruling a city in troubled times could do to a man. Unfortunately, his greeting, while proper and courteous, had lacked warmth. He had been rigid and formal and had seemed preoccupied. For Myselene, this had been a singular experience - she was unaccustomed to being overlooked. It made her all the more determin
ed to dazzle the king at their dinner tonight. Before leaving Obis, she had been advised by a number of well-wishers to seduce Azarak with her eyes and the promise of her body. She intended to apply that advice. Her goal was to do whatever necessity demanded to secure a formal betrothal announcement, and she wasn’t about to let decorum or propriety block her path. Her stay was officially scheduled for three weeks but, if she achieved her aim, she would never depart Vantok. They need not wed immediately, but if the king was to renege on a binding agreement, he risked either war with Obis or bankrupting his treasury with reparation payments.

  Myselene wasn’t under any delusions that her marriage would be a union of love. Even as a little girl, that had never been her expectation. She was a political pawn; her father had waited this long to put her into the game, hoping to use her to capture the biggest prize. If Azarak rejected her, there were countless lordlings in Obis who would gladly accept her hand, providing her with a life and home much like those enjoyed by her sisters. Her ambition, however, demanded more. Given the opportunity to marry a king, she intended to become a queen. Anything less would be unacceptable. Her father wanted this union for the benefits it would bring to his city; Myselene wanted it so her children would be royalty, not minor nobles.

  She returned to the porch and resumed her perusal of the palace’s environs. The view to the north was dominated by a more grand structure than the one in which she resided: Vantok’s temple, known across the land as a masterpiece of craftsmanship and beauty - a tribute from men to gods. Between here and there, however, the haze generated by the day’s heat created a shimmering effect that made it difficult to identify distinct structures.

  The maid returned with a basin of water just in time for Myselene to wash her face and make herself presentable before the chancellor arrived to introduce her to Vantok’s most influential nobility. Charming them wouldn’t be difficult. Seducing their ruler, however, might be a different matter.

  * * *

  “What do you think of her?” asked Azarak late that night as he and Toranim sat together in his chambers for their ritual end-of-the-day conference. The windows were all flung wide to admit a strong, warm breeze.