The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  “More to the point, Your Majesty, what do you think of her? How was the dinner?”

  Azarak considered. Myselene’s arrival had complicated matters. His preference would have been to delay her visit indefinitely but they had procrastinated long enough. Further dithering might be taken as an insult by Rangarak, the king of Obis, who had been rejecting marriage proposals from his own nobles until Myselene was presented to Azarak as a candidate for the next queen of Vantok. Her younger sister was already married - unusual for a Northern royal family, where matches were typically made sequentially from the eldest to the youngest. So, with the criminal element still not cowed and the mandatory conscription program undergoing birth pangs, Azarak was forced to play host to a foreign princess.

  “It was... less onerous... than I expected,” admitted the king. Beforehand, he had anticipated a tedious evening with long bouts of silence punctuated by occasional doomed attempts at unenlightened conversation. That hadn’t been the case. Myselene’s seeming timidity had evaporated and she had proven knowledgeable about a great many more subjects than Azarak had expected. Whatever else she might be, the king of Obis’ middle daughter was no empty-headed princess with only her physical attributes to recommend her.

  “Initially, she kept her eyes downcast and spoke hardly a word. I feared she’d prove to be as vapid as the other high-born ladies who have sought to ‘catch’ me. But when I asked her about the long journey, she became animated. After that, she forgot her shyness and was able to steer the conversation from topic to topic, displaying a deftness I’ve encountered only in men but with a vivacity that few learned people show.”

  “Her reputation suggests she’s not only attractive but intelligent,” said Toranim. He knew the king would find that quality appealing, which was why he had pursued this match doggedly for nearly four years. Queen Amenia hadn’t been three seasons in her grave when the king of Obis first suggested the then-12-year old Myselene as a potential future bride for the bereaved king.

  “She and I have several more meetings scheduled during her stay and I have to admit I no longer dread them.” Azarak paused and a frown creased his features. “I only wish she had come in less complicated times. How can I consider a marriage to Princess Myselene with so many other concerns threatening?”

  “How can you not? Myselene is here, in your palace, and what she brings to a union is tangible: the potential to forge a strong relationship with Obis, whose armies at their weakest would be three times the size of ours at their strongest.”

  It was one more thing to mull over. Although it was true that Obis was a city of hard-bred fighting men, it was a long distance away, and a battle for Vantok, if it came to that, might be won or lost long before aid could arrive.

  Azarak changed topics, moving to another vexing issue. “What news of our recalcitrant would-be wizard?”

  “He’s still unaccounted for.”

  “Can’t say I blame him, considering the circumstances. What does the innkeeper say?”

  “He isn’t worried. Says the boy’s too besotted with the duke’s daughter to abandon her, and the enticement of marriage is too great.”

  “So he’s in hiding?”

  The chancellor nodded. “So says Warburm. We have time to wait him out. Since the goal is to send him into The Forbidden Lands in search of the Havenham portal, Harvest is the optimum time to start the journey.”

  “Are we certain Vantok’s portal can’t be used?”

  “His Eminence says not. A souring of old records revealed that Warburm apparently owns the property where it once stood but he says there’s no trace of it. It was utterly razed. I looked into some rumors of a portal existing in the North, somewhere between Obis and Syre, but was unable to confirm anything. The site is reputed to be haunted and no one goes there. I passed a question about it to the prelate and he replied that the location in The Forbidden Lands is the only credible one.”

  Azarak doubted that. It was more likely that Ferguson didn’t want anyone else to know of additional portal locations. “He always knows more than he claims.”

  “That may be the case, although he has no reason to hide it. If there was a way the boy could be transformed without having to make a dangerous journey into The Forbidden Lands, Ferguson would attempt it, but he believes all the northern portals were destroyed during the post-wizard era to ‘prevent headstrong would-be heroes killing themselves in fruitless attempts to validate non-existent magical abilities.’”

  That agreed with the king's studies. Once the gods took back the gift of magic, even those with latent abilities had died if they attempted to use a portal. Men became so frightened of losing sons and daughters that they smashed portals and buried their locations.

  “I’m not entirely comfortable with the way this has been handled. Ferguson orchestrating an underground society seeking to locate a candidate for the role of Vantok’s wizard protector... A few years ago, I would have called it madness, and this has been going on for longer than a few years.”

  “And today?”

  “Desperation. I’ve read the tomes and scrolls, Toranim, and I know how unlikely it is that this stableboy, above every person in all the cities, will be able to pass the test and be welcomed by the portal. One in one thousand - those are his most optimistic odds. We’re likely manipulating him to his death because there’s the faintest of faint chances he could have the potential. We don’t even know if magic is possible - that, as Ferguson argues, its return was a parting gift from the gods.”

  “Your Majesty, if it comes to war, you’ll have to send far more than just one boy into harm’s way. Men will die at your command - many of them. Unless you intend to abdicate, you must steel yourself to make these decisions. And if this boy fails, we’ll turn to Prelate Ferguson to identify the next candidate. He’s been cultivating this lad for nearly two decades. This is no idle, random pick. And most probably not the only one available to him.”

  “I understand that, Toranim,” said Azarak testily. No one knew better than he that the possibility of a wizard was too powerful a lure to ignore, but he was irritated at how much had been done behind his back - how the supposedly most powerful man in the city was powerless in this matter. “But this borders on treason. A conspiracy that has festered and grown within this city.”

  “That’s a bruised ego speaking, Your Majesty, not the judgment of a shrewd ruler.” When bluntness was called for, Toranim didn’t shrink from it. Had he been a sycophant, Azarak’s first queen would likely still be alive. “Ferguson is outside your authority and the roots of this ‘conspiracy’, as you call it, began far from Vantok. The boy’s mother hails from Syre. This may be many things, Your Majesty, but it isn’t treason. Quite the opposite, in fact. This group has provided you with an option that, should it come to fruition, might save both your reign and this city.”

  “Even with a wizard, this war - if it comes to pass - is far from won. The thing that convinced me magic may have returned isn’t the thousands of moldering scrolls I’ve pored over or the dry dissertations of our learned prelate. It’s that no force other than magic can be responsible for the unnatural heat that’s brought our city to heel. It makes me fear what may be brewing in the infernal Forbidden Lands where we’re sending our best hope.”

  Toranim nodded his agreement. This was the first time the king had spoken openly about what they both assumed - the manipulations of an adversary wizard were responsible for the weather.

  Azarak mused, “We know so little, but we have to assume this wizard, whoever he is, is readying a strike north, with Vantok as his first target. Does he have an army? Are his forces men or monsters? Is the heat his way of breaking us down, weakening us so we’ll be too weary to fight when the time comes? It’s a basic strategy taken to extremes. The question is: How to combat it?”

  “It's all about preparation. Arm the populace and train them to use their weapons, then put our faith in His Eminence and his schemes. You and I both know, Your Majesty, that one a
s wily as our prelate has more brands in the fire than one stableboy.”

  “Aye. Ferguson’s a lover of secrets, and he’ll tell us only as much as he wants us to know. He dispenses information the way a farmer dispenses seed. If there was some way to know something about the host we might face - their nature, their numbers...”

  “We can speculate,” offered Toranim.

  “With thin evidence.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. If the wizard is using the heat to sap the effectiveness of our army, it could mean his force isn’t large enough to face us on an equal footing.”

  “Or he’s concerned about losing too many men in an initial battle, which could limit his ability to surge northward.”

  Toranim nodded. “So it’s unlikely we’ll be facing an overwhelming army. And my best guess is we can expect the majority of the enemy’s ranks to be comprised of mercenaries and nomads and peasants from villages in the Deep South.”

  “At full strength, Vantok can field an army of six thousand, perhaps a quarter of whom will have some legitimate fighting training either in private militias or as members of the Watch. It would be surprising if any force based in The Forbidden Lands could do better than match that,” said Azarak.

  “Our knowledge of The Forbidden Lands is limited. We know there are settlements along the coast and it may be that there are towns or even cities far to the south, well beyond the ruins of Havenham. It’s a pity we've never explored more than the northern fringes.”

  “We tried.” Azarak recalled something he had read. “Several centuries ago, a king of Vantok sent a heavily armed force of ten score mounted warriors on an expedition into The Forbidden Lands. Their goal was to map the region, make contact with anyone who had settled there, and discover what lay on the southern side. They vanished without a trace after having sent back only a few mundane messages about how inhospitable and barren the place was. In the mountainous regions, they encountered wild goats and a few wolves. They were never heard from again and a rescue party found no evidence they’d been there. The Forbidden Lands are thus named for a reason.

  “I’ve been shortsighted, ignoring the potential of a threat from the Deep South.” Azarak had always believed Vantok to be the safest of the southern cities because of its distance from the belligerent northern states. He had never dreamed that the greatest danger could be brewing in his own backyard.

  “If the heat continues to build, morale will decay. It’s not good now. The conscription has made you unpopular.”

  “How much time would you estimate before an attack comes?” asked Azarak, recognizing that Toranim had an overall better understanding of tactics than he did.

  “Assuming we're projecting an attack by a mostly conventional fighting force, more than one year, but less than two,” said Toranim with a certainty that surprised the king.

  “You sound confident of that.”

  “The heat’s been building steadily over the span of several years. This will likely be the final year when a harvest is possible during the upcoming Winter. As the heat grows to levels we haven’t yet experienced, shallow wells will run dry. Trade will trickle to a stop and our grain stores will be depleted. Pestilence and famine, already creeping dangers, will run rampant. Many will flee Vantok for the cooler, more fertile lands to the north. That’s when our enemies will strike. The people may turn against you before then, Your Majesty. The future ills that befall Vantok will be laid at your feet.”

  “One of my predecessors remarked that a popular king is one who shirks the hard choices faced by a good and just ruler. Not that such kernels of wisdom are helpful in times such as these.”

  “A royal wedding, complete with the attendant pomp and celebration, is sure to lift spirits.”

  Azarak frowned at that, but had to admit the truth in his chancellor’s words. “We must time it right,” said the king. “It’s a one-time weapon with limited longevity.”

  “And we must find the right bride.”

  “Which brings us back to the issue at hand. Should I wed the Princess of Obis and take as her dowry a contingent of King Rangarak’s army to bolster our own forces?” Azarak was beginning to wish he had acceded to the pressure placed upon him soon after the death of his first wife. At that time, the prime consideration for the new queen would have been her fertility. Now, with war, famine, and the rebirth of magic lurking like monsters in the shadows, the decision had become more complicated and the wrong choice could mean disaster for the city he ruled.

  * * *

  The morning after her dinner with the king, Myselene rose from her bed more optimistic than at any time since coming to Vantok. She didn’t even mind it when her overly attentive maid awoke her with a tray of honey-covered biscuits and berries to break her fast. She knew she had been at her best the previous evening and the thrill of her triumph had carried through the night. She sensed she had won Azarak over or, at the least, made a dent in his armor. Courtship was as much a battle as combat with arms. Her strategy was to wear down his defenses then, when the opening presented itself, launch the final assault.

  How to accomplish that remained an open question. Her older, pragmatic sister had suggested she yield her virginity to the king. Any man of honor, as Azarak surely must be, would be duty-bound to marry her after that. One of her maids and confidants had countered that she should tease him but not surrender her maidenhead. That would leave him lusting for a prize he would receive only after the vows were exchanged. Myselene could see wisdom in both approaches but she would need to know her intended betrothed better before deciding which would be the better course of action.

  She wanted this marriage, and not just for her children. She wanted it for herself. Having now spent hours in Azarak’s company, she felt certain her role could be more substantive than that of a royal broodmare and an ornament for important occasions. She could be those things, of course, but she had more to offer. The king of Vantok was the kind of man who would listen to her counsel and solicit her opinions. As his queen, she would have power and influence - two things she currently lacked as the second daughter of the king of Obis and would never have as the wife of a rich merchant or favored noble.

  She didn’t know the identities of her rivals but assumed there were many. The king’s unwillingness to marry for years after his first wife’s death indicated he was unhappy with his choices. Myselene’s tactic was to convince Azarak that she was the right one - the only one - who could fill the void left by his first wife.

  She knew her dowry would be as crucial an enticement as her person. She had gently probed the king’s needs and learned a few things. He didn’t seem overly worried about finances but he was concerned about how the weather was damaging Vantok’s trade and farming industries. He was also troubled about the military, although she couldn’t discern why. Perhaps because of the crime and lawlessness resulting from the rumors about the gods, but there seemed to be something more... something he was unwilling to reveal. At any rate, it was clear that he needed troops as dearly as a well-patrolled trade route between Obis and Vantok. But how many men was a marriage between her and Azarak worth to her father? One hundred? Two hundred? Five hundred? Obis had a standing army of twenty-thousand men, so five hundred didn’t seem unreasonable to Myselene, but she knew her father prized his militia above all else.

  After the maid had departed to clear away her dishes and fetch a pitcher of fresh water, Myselene rose from bed, let her sleeping gown slip to the floor in a pool of aquamarine silk, and regarded herself critically in the polished sliver looking glass. This was still her best weapon, she acknowledged, appraising her full breasts with their symmetrical areola and pink nipples. Going forward, every garment she wore would be designed to emphasize her body, to let Azarak see what could be his. She would turn his head if it took walking naked into his sleeping chamber to accomplish that goal. Some believed her naturally quiet demeanor to be a sign of maidenly innocence. They couldn’t be more wrong. Myselene had little practical experience
but she had studied what occurred between men and women in the bedchamber and had been given advice by experienced servants. When it came to using sexuality to win campaigns, few would be able match her. Once all the skirmishes were fought, she would be the queen of Vantok.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: CAPITULATION

  For Sorial, the twilight of Summer meant the time had come to face the future. As much as he enjoyed the simplicity of spending long days at manual labor and short nights sleeping the dreamless slumber of exhaustion, he couldn’t remain in this limbo forever. At seventeen years of age, Sorial had elected to heed the clarion call of destiny and confront those who had manipulated his past; the time for flight and subterfuge was over. It was unfair to him. It was unfair to Alicia. It was even unfair to those who had placed him in this position.

  One aspect of repetitive, rigorous physical labor was that it freed the mind, giving Sorial many hours to contemplate his situation. He accepted the correctness of his mother’s secretiveness. He also recognized that the people who had mapped out his youth were serious, desperate men. This wasn’t some random plot cobbled together on the fly. His existence had been planned from before his birth. Whatever their flaws, Warburm’s cabal had acted deliberately and they were far from the end game. They wanted, nay needed, a wizard and they were determined for Sorial to be that person. They had manipulated his bloodline and kept him hidden from his enemies, whoever they might be, but nothing they had done could ensure he was truly capable of wielding magic.

  It was past time for the key players in this drama to provide a full accounting. Sorial understood the framework of his situation, but he was ignorant of a myriad of details. He would do what they wanted. To gain his heart’s desire, an unharried life with Alicia, he had to risk everything. The alternative meant spending the next fifteen years as a fugitive while hoping Alicia would be waiting for him when her time of servitude was done. And would there even be a Vantok in fifteen years? The expectation and hope was that once he came into his powers, he would save the city. Without a wizard, how long could it last? There was more at stake than his future happiness, even though that was how it had been framed for his consumption.