The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (13 page)

“What if Ferguson publicly contradicts you?” she asked. “What if he rebuts your claim about the gods?”

“That would be lying. Thus far, Ferguson has allowed silence and ignorance to be his tools. He’s never addressed the rumors. His message has been consistent: remain steadfast in your faith. Ferguson is not beyond prevarication, but I don’t think he would tell a lie about something this important, especially since he would almost certainly be contradicted by prelates in other cities, many of whom have been more open about their concerns. Whatever Ferguson’s course of action, I don’t expect it to be that blunt. He’ll undoubtedly try something more devious.”

“When are you planning to deliver the speech?”

“It will take a few days to ready and rehearse. And I have to prepare the militia in case they’re needed to curb civil unrest. If the people believe me, there could be riots or, at the very least, some level of violence. Ironically, the nobles will need the Crown’s protection. Maybe a minor uprising will convince them that their grievances would be better addressed through negotiations than a precipitous ‘withdrawal’ from the city charter.”

They continued talking for more than an hour with their conversation touching on a variety of subjects including the wedding and Myselene’s seeming inability to become pregnant. Then, weary of words, they tried again to make Vantok’s heir. Azarak’s lovemaking was mechanical and neither was satisfied. When he rolled off her, sweating and breathing heavily, it wasn’t to fall asleep. They lay side-by-side for a while, neither dozing, until Myselene drifted off. Slumber, however, eluded Azarak. When sleep finally claimed him, the long Winter’s darkness was approaching the morning twilight.

Four hours later, he awoke with a start, immediately aware that something wasn’t quite right. Myselene still lay next to him, although the abrupt manner of his awakening disturbed her. She rolled over and mumbled something. The room was bright with morning sunlight. He had been in bed at least two hours longer than he should have been. Why hadn’t Toranim aroused him for their daily early morning briefing?

Azarak rose and used the pull-bell to summon the chancellor.

“What is it?” asked Myselene sleepily.

“Toranim didn’t wake me this morning. Something’s wrong.”

Several minutes passed uneventfully. Outside the window, Azarak could hear birds chirping. They thought it was Planting. The weather thought it was Planting. Only the calendar thought it was Winter.

Finally, impatient, Azarak donned a dressing robe and went to his chamber door. The guard on duty stood at attention when the king emerged. “Find Chancellor Toranim and ask him to join me in my rooms.”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Myselene, who had risen and donned her own robe.  It wouldn’t do for the chancellor to arrive and find her naked. There were rules of propriety to be observed. “He knows you’re tired. He probably decided to let you sleep late. Last night, you said there were no public audiences today.”

“Toranim isn’t the sort of man who would ‘just let me sleep late.’ After what happened last night, he knows the importance of getting an early start today. By now, I should be caucused with my top soldiers, planning how to confine the disaffected nobles to their estates without provoking a confrontation with their personal militias. These matters can’t wait, no matter how tired a king might be.”

Azarak was a great believer in trusting his instincts and they told him that all was not well this fine Winter morning. His concern was contagious. Soon Myselene was edgy and anxious as well.

When the urgent knock came nearly a half-hour later, Azarak was quick to answer it. He was greeted not by the chancellor or the guard he had sent to fetch Toranim. Instead, there were four fully armed soldiers, including the captain of the King’s Guard.

“Your Majesty, Chancellor Toranim was attacked while walking on the palace grounds early this morning.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE PORTAL’S CALL

Alicia felt more alone than at any time since her first days trapped in her gilded temple cell. Surrounded by strangers, two of whom she once thought she knew, she was no longer in control of her destiny. Strangely, she was still headed toward her original goal, but she now understood she had been manipulated into making this journey. More than anything else, it gave her insight into what life had been like for Sorial, knowing that even the most inconsequential aspects of his childhood and adolescence had been managed by others to further a “greater good.”

She rode the same horse she had left Vantok on. The same was true of Kara. Rexall had taken Vagrum’s larger, sturdier mount. Alicia was offended by this - no one should have ridden that animal except her dead champion - but she said nothing. Technically, the horses were stolen, although perhaps her father was in on the conspiracy as well. He had been involved in the previous one. Also accompanying them were three companions from Sussaman. One was an older man with whom Kara had a longstanding acquaintanceship. The other two were younger, perhaps only a few years older than Alicia. Apparently, it took three normal men to replace Vagrum. To Alicia, of course, he was irreplaceable. She had taken it for granted that a rock of a man like Vagrum would be around forever. “Forever” had turned out to be a shockingly short period of time.

In a way, Alicia trusted the newcomers - silver-haired Aiden, blond Namanay, and dark-skinned, dark-haired Debulon - more than she did Kara and Rexall. Her growing bond with Sorial’s mother had been damaged by Kara’s revelation. As for Rexall, she had no desire to interact with him at all. She hadn’t liked him from the beginning and now she simmered with resentment for everything he represented.

They were six hours out of Sussaman, heading northeast on a path that was too narrow and uneven to be called a “road.” On a clear afternoon, there would be another two hours of sunlight, but the clouds encroaching from the northwest promised not only bad weather but an early cessation to their day’s traveling. Alicia noticed their three guides were already scanning the terrain for likely camping spots. They were more concerned with discovering a good stopping place than they were with maximizing travel distance. How unlike Vagrum’s approach.

The North was a bleak and unfriendly place, although Alicia acknowledged it might be more inviting during the warm seasons. Most of the trees were short and stubby oaks and maples; they looked skeletal without their leaves. The few conifers appeared undernourished and some were dead, their brown branches not having yet dropped all their needles. A blanket of frozen white covered everything - the result of snow that had undergone multiple thaw/freeze cycles. If the clouds were a harbinger of snow, there would be a fresh coating by morning. If Vagrum had been with them, he would be able to tell. Foretelling weather had been one of his specialties.

“You and I, we have to talk.” Rexall moved his horse alongside Alicia’s while she was busy studying the terrain ahead and engaging in bouts of self-pity.

She gave him a cold look but said nothing. Of the things that could occupy her attention on this monotonous ride, having a conversation with Rexall was low on the list.

“You might like to pretend I don’t exist but we’re stuck together for at least another few weeks, and possibly a lot longer than that, so we should at least clear the air.”

“You think that’s easily done?”

“Actually, yes, because I don’t understand why you’re angry at me. There’s nothing I’ve done you ain’t asked of me.”

“Nothing springs to mind? C’mon Rexall, I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

“You think my arrangement with Ferguson changes things?”

“You betrayed us! Not only me, but your best friend!”

“Is that how you see it?” He seemed almost amused. “You ain’t got the best grasp of reality. And I doubt Sorial will share your view when he understands everything.”

“You think Sorial will forgive your having taken money from Ferguson to help manipulate the direction of his life?”

“That’s where you’ve got it wrong. I was paid to make regular reports to one of Ferguson’s underlings. Simple things like: Is he patriotic? Does he support the king? What does he think of the rumors about the gods? Once or twice, they asked me to take him places, like swimming at a spot on your father’s property. Saying I ‘manipulated’ him is more than stretching the truth.”

“You think it’s a misrepresentation to characterize your ‘friendship’ as a sham?”

“I didn’t befriend Sorial because Ferguson asked me to. We were friends before I was approached. In fact, that’s
why
I was approached. They wanted information from someone who knew and understood him and they were willing to pay good coin for it. Money don’t mean much to someone like you, who can get whatever you want just by asking Daddy, but when you live in a stable and eat leftovers from a kitchen, you learn to appreciate every last stud someone offers. Would I have done something to hurt Sorial? Absolutely not. But I saw nothing wrong with telling a priest some things about how he lived his days and what he thought. And I’d wager every stud I have in my possession today that if our positions were reversed, Sorial would have done the same.”

“Maybe, but with one difference. He would have told you he was doing it. The betrayal isn’t that you met with the priest, gave him information about Sorial, and took his money. It’s that you did those things without telling your supposed friend. That makes it underhanded.”

“If you expect everyone to live up to your high standards, you’re going to live in a constant state of disappointment. Look at poor Vagrum. He did essentially the same thing I did. He had to come crawling back to you and promise to do whatever you demanded in order to earn your forgiveness. Look where that got him. If that’s your price, I’d rather not pay.”

“The situations aren’t the same. Vagrum...”

“They’re exactly the same!” snapped Rexall, showing anger for the first time. “We were both paid by agents of Ferguson to provide information. Vagrum’s subject was you, mine was Sorial. The difference is that Vagrum’s conscience was murky while mine is clear.”

“All right. Then let’s address your betrayal in my escape from the temple.”

“Your complaint there is even more difficult to understand. You asked me to help you get out of the temple, pick up a guide who knew the way to the portal, and help get you there. Unless something goes very wrong, you’ll be there in a week. I’d say I fulfilled my end of things marvelously. I ain’t tried to stop you, sabotage your journey, or convince you to go elsewhere. We’re going exactly where you wanted and, as a bonus, I saved your life. Not even Kara realizes how close to dead you were the night after Vagrum got himself shot in the head.”

“It’s not your actions, it’s your motives.”

“With you, there’s always going to be another complaint. Can’t see what about you’s got Sorial besotted. You want to know what really happened? You want to know the whole story about my role in your escape? Okay, I’ll tell you. A few days before you asked for my help, my priest contact came to me and said, ‘We suspect the Lady Alicia is going to request your aid in an escape plan. When she does this, agree to her request then come to us for further instructions.’

“It’s true that Sorial found the tunnel from the inn to the temple, but he didn’t give me enough information that I would have been able to find it on my own. Ferguson provided the location and made sure no one would interfere with your escape. He sent agents to shadow our progress and provide aid, if needed, in dire circumstances. They were the ones who chased us into that dilapidated excuse for an inn and they came to your aid when you were dying of the fever. They were on the bridge a short distance behind us; they sent Vagrum’s killer over the edge to join him and helped me keep you alive after Kara left. They weren’t healers but they had enough medicines to sustain you until aid arrived from Sussaman.”

Alicia felt some of the anger draining away, but not the disappointment, bitterness, and sense of defeat. She could understand how Rexall justified his every action to himself, but she knew betrayal when she encountered it, and this was it. It would have been better had she been left in her cell to rot than to have escaped in this manner. But there was one question she needed to ask.

“Is this the portal where they’re taking Sorial? Have we come all this way for nothing?”

“I dunno. Ferguson wanted you here, but he didn’t tell me why. It could be because he felt it would help Sorial for you to be there for comfort and encouragement, or it could be that he wanted you as far away as possible. I ain’t Ferguson’s confidante. I’m his tool. He uses me for particular tasks but he don’t tell me more than I need to know. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I can give you
insight
. Kara knows him better. This job is all about getting you to the portal.”
And doing one other thing...
But she didn’t need to know that, at least not yet.

* * *

After a week on the road from Sussaman to Ibitsal, Alicia had been able to work through some of her inner turmoil and arrive at a more stable state of mind. She and Kara were again talking, although not with the familiarity they had enjoyed before Vagrum’s death. She understood the older woman’s reasons even if they were difficult to forgive. In her own way, Kara thought she was doing what was best for all - supporting Sorial, providing counsel to Alicia, and maintaining the faith in Ferguson that was a cornerstone of her existence. As for Rexall, her ire toward him dimmed. In the darkest hours at night, she was even forced to admit that some of his defenses were difficult to refute, especially the one that likened his actions to Vagrum’s. They had both acted as spies. Would Sorial forgive his oldest friend? Alicia wished she knew the answer. Sorial’s upbringing had been close to Rexall’s; his perspective might be more forgiving than hers. But she couldn’t envision the two enjoying the close companionship they had once shared. Sorial might understand Rexall’s actions but he would never again trust him.

The weather was unpleasant but not bitter or brutal enough to halt travel: cold and overcast with intermittent flurries and snow showers but no heavy or sustained precipitation. Perhaps because she was becoming used to the frigid temperatures, Alicia found that the cold bothered her less than it had south of Widow’s Peak. She just huddled a little deeper into her fur-lined clothing. And she no longer found it difficult to fall asleep at night. Physical discomfort had become the norm.

Her Sussaman-bred guides assured her they were getting closer. Within a day, the small trail they were traveling would merge into the bigger Obis-Syre Road, the North’s major east-west thoroughfare. They wouldn’t be on that path for long, however. Once a direct artery through Ibitsal, the highway had been diverted when rumors emerged of ghosts haunting the old city’s ruins. Still, the new road ran less than a half-day’s walk south of Ibitsal. Best estimates were that they would reach their destination late in the day tomorrow. According to Kara, the tales of wraiths and specters were unfounded - juicy stories told around midnight campfires by adventurers with more machismo than sense. The Sussaman men, two of whom had visited the ancient city, also scoffed. But Alicia’s newfound belief in the supernatural made her nervous. After all, if wizards could exist, why not ghosts?

The terrain seemed nothing if not promising for the dead. They hadn’t seen another person for more than two days and, excepting small wild life and birds, nothing living. One night, they heard wolf howls and, the next day, they saw tracks in the snow, but they didn’t encounter the animals and nothing similar happened again. With everything white during the day - both ground and sky - it was easy to become disoriented. Alicia didn’t know how people could live in this climate. It was unremittingly bleak.

That evening, after they camped, Kara came to sit by Alicia’s fire. It was the first time she had done so since leaving Sussaman.

“How are you?” she asked as she stripped off her wet gloves and rubbed her hands together vigorously near the flames.

Such a simple, banal question but so difficult to answer, at least truthfully. Her mother had taught her that the proper etiquette was to respond to the common greeting with either “grand” or “tolerable,” depending on one’s mood. But Alicia had learned more about the true art of conversation from Vagrum, whose preference had been for blunt speech and profanity over cultivated chatter. “Shitty. I don’t know why I’m here anymore. When I left Vantok, I had a clear purpose. Now it’s all muddled. Sometimes, I think I should give up and go back. Would that be giving Ferguson a victory or a defeat? Does it even matter at this point?”

“But you won’t go back,” said Kara, her voice smooth and certain. “You’re too close. And even though you’re discouraged, you’re curious as well. You want to know how this is going to end. A part of you hopes that by going there, you’ll be able to see Sorial soon. If this is his destination, you know he can’t be far away.”

“I miss him.” The sting of the admission caught her by surprise. Her sudden tears glinted in the firelight - golden streaks on her cheeks that would have matched the color of her hair had she not dyed it. “We’ve only seen each other once in the last year. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks of me at all or if I was just a passing infatuation he left behind on his climb to power. How I wish things could be like they were but I don’t think either of those people exists any longer. That’s what scares me the most - what was so real between Alicia-at-14 and Sorial-at-16 might be dead by the next time we meet. Will we be strangers, with nothing to say to one another?”