The Curse in the Gift (The Last Whisper of the Gods Book 2) (20 page)

“That wouldn’t be wise, would it? Let her go and my life would be worth shit. The only thing keeping me able to talk to you is this knife at her throat. You and I have to reach an accommodation, although perhaps not the one I hoped for. I expected you to come here looking for a portal, not after having visited one. What happened to poor Langashin, I wonder?”

“Let her go and I’ll make sure you die quickly rather than in agony like him.”

“Don’t be hasty. We’re two reasonable men. We can work this out.”

“You say ‘reasonable’ when you’re holding a knife to her throat? What have you done to her?”

“Just a little greenberry cider. What you don’t know is you’re not the only one to have stepped through a portal. Your woman has as well. I’m sure you can see how that complicates matters.”

If this man was telling the truth, Ferguson had been right; his gambit had paid dividends. But it changed nothing. It didn’t lessen Alicia’s danger. And, even if she was a wizard, she was in no condition to help herself. She was insensible of her surroundings.

On the periphery of his vision, Sorial saw men moving toward him. Although still a distance away, their progress was slow and inexorable. The chieftain was stalling for time, hoping to prolong the conversation long enough for his subordinates to attempt a rescue. Sorial took a step forward.

“Stop. No closer. I don’t want to kill her, Sorial. Eliminate a wizard I saw created not six hours ago? But if you take another step in this direction, I will. If you do anything threatening, I will. Now, here’s my proposal. I have a flask of greenberry cider in my tent. It won’t do any permanent harm but it should cloud your mind sufficiently to make it difficult to attempt magic. Take a long, deep draught of it, swear on Lady Alicia’s life that you won’t act against me, and we’ll talk. I think you’ll find we have more in common than you might...” An expression of disbelief crossed his features. After doing little more than gently nicking Alicia’s flesh, the knife dropped from senseless fingers and his body collapsed immediately thereafter. The small rent in his left temple was the only evidence of the high velocity pebble Sorial had blasted into his head. There was very little blood, but death didn’t always demand copious amounts.

Sorial sprinted to Alicia, who had crumpled without support from her captor. She was conscious although confused and was having difficulty struggling into a sitting position. He lifted her to her feet, cradling her shivering body. Using his one hand, he held her against him, skin to skin. It was the most intimate contact they had shared thus far. When he looked into her eyes, he saw recognition.

“Sorial,” she whispered, smiling. “I thought it was you. Head’s all fuzzy. My Lord of Earth, come to my rescue.”

He wept unashamedly. “I love you, My Lady of Water.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE SHORT ROAD

As night fell, Sorial and Rexall stood outside Maraman’s tent, the mood between them icier than the terrain. Inside, Alicia and Aiden slept. Neither would be ready to travel until morning at the earliest; Alicia was still suffering from aftereffects of the greenberry cider and Aiden was recovering from beatings that had comprised a preliminary “softening up” at the hands of one of Maraman’s underlings. While those two rested, Sorial and Rexall stood guard, peering into the growing darkness around them. Although many of the encampment’s denizens had quietly departed since their leader’s demise, the settlement wasn’t deserted, at least not yet. It was unlikely an attack would come; those who remained were inclined to give Sorial as wide a berth as possible. They were here because they had nowhere better to go. Nevertheless, with Alicia’s life at stake, he wasn’t going to chance anything.

Sorial was still reeling from the double blow of learning that his mother and father were both dead - the latter by his own hand. Rexall had provided an account of events at the portal - of Kara’s sacrifice and Alicia’s transformation - but there were gaps in the story and Sorial hadn’t yet addressed Rexall’s role as Ferguson’s paid informant with his friend. The issue hung in the air between them, more impenetrable than the lowering darkness with its promise of snow.

Sorial felt no grief over his father’s demise although he was surprised to learn of the warlord’s identity. Gazing at the dead man’s face, he had tried to remember if he had seen him pass through the stables at The Wayfarer’s Comfort but there was no sense of familiarity. This was just another old man; the scarring diminished any familial resemblance.

He mourned Kara. His relationship with his mother had been fractious and characterized by misunderstandings, but he would miss her. They hadn’t been as close as either might have preferred but she had always been there for him in her own way, seemingly spending her entire life at the farm awaiting his visits. The things she had done were accomplished out of true belief in a cause. He now wished he had told her about Ariel. Knowing rather than merely suspecting that her daughter was alive might have prevented her final, desperate action. Kara had died not knowing whether Sorial had fulfilled his destiny, the one she had helped map out for him. One of the things he had planned to do upon his return to Vantok was to move her to a house more worthy of a wizard’s mother. Now, there would be no need. If he visited the farm, it would be an empty shell. The property would revert to whatever noble owned the land. He would find new farming tenants and there would soon be a new family occupying the ramshackle cottage.

Amidst all this, Sorial also had to confront his feelings about Rexall. He was conflicted. Standing beside him was the same boy he had grown up alongside. For seven years, they had shared almost everything, their lives entwined as they had passed through adolescence into young adulthood. To learn that even a portion of that had been choreographed by Ferguson caused another fracture in Sorial’s already brittle sense of identity. But it was unbecoming for one such as him to feel self-pity. The portal had washed away that right.

He could understand why Rexall had accepted money from the Temple. Its representatives were, after all, priests, and priests were supposed to be noble and trustworthy. For someone raised in poverty and forced to shovel straw and shit for a living, even a few extra coins could be a boon. Rexall, never inclined toward miserliness, had lavished some of his money on Sorial, often paying for drinks and occasionally for whores. Looking back, Sorial wondered why he had never questioned his friend’s largesse. Nevertheless,
understanding
was not the same as
forgiving
. The betrayal hurt, another tiny stab wound. Knowledge of it created a possibly insurmountable barrier between them.

“We got to talk about it,” he said with a sigh, breaking the lengthy silence. There was no need to specify what was meant by
it
. “And if there’s any hope of salvaging some part of our friendship, I need honesty from you.”

Rexall nodded. His face was as sober as Sorial could remember seeing it. No cocky grin or sarcastic sneer. Complete understanding and perhaps relief at being given a chance to unburden himself.

“First, there’s something I need to know. Did you have anything to do with what happened to Annie?”

Rexall appeared shocked by the question. “Never! Sor, I don’t think you understand how little I did for Ferguson. I wasn’t like Warburm and the others. He didn’t tell me his plans. In fact, till a season ago, I never met the man face-to-face. It was always through go-betweens. Always little things.”

“Tell me. Everything.”

“It started about a season after we met. A priest asked me if I was willing to do something to help His Eminence. Being the good, religious boy I was, I asked what was in it for me. He told me I would be ‘compensated.’ Not knowing what that meant, I asked for details and he handed me a small pouch of brass studs. I felt rich. He said he wanted me to keep being friends with you. That didn’t seem so bad: money for hanging around with someone I liked. From time-to-time, he came to me with questions about you. They were always dumb things. What did you think of your job? Did you like your master? How often did you see your mother and did you get along with her? Did you believe in the gods? Later, after you met Alicia, they asked a lot about her. Did you love her? Had you fucked her? Once in a while, they asked me to do little things. Like take you bathing in the river on Carannan’s property. They asked me to talk you out of becoming serious with Annie, as if I had any influence.”

Sorial had to admit, those were all minor things. Compared to what others in his life - Warburm, Lamanar, Kara - had done, they were inconsequential. But he suspected that wasn’t everything. “What about after Alicia was sent to the temple? Did you tell them everything you and I talked about and all the messages I asked you to give to Alicia?”

Rexall hesitated before answering. “Only what they wanted to know. Once they were sure you hadn’t run away, they didn’t ask much. Then, after you left with Warburm, they told me to contact them if Alicia proposed an escape plan, which they expected. She did, so I went to them. That’s when Ferguson met me in person.

“His proposal was convoluted, but I suppose that’s always the case with him. I mean, if he wanted to get Alicia to a portal, why not send her to one with an armed escort? He loves playing games. Sometimes I think they’re more important to him than getting results. He offered me 100 gold - 50 in advance, 50 on completion. Do you know how long it would take me to earn that much legitimately? Of course you do. Never in a lifetime. Even the hardest working farmer or tradesman can’t earn a full gold in a year. To have a chance at that much... My duties, as they were described to me, were to aid Alicia in her ‘escape’, provide guidance and protection on the road to Ibitsal, and assess her ‘empathy’ with the portal. If it ‘touched’ her, I was to ensure by whatever means necessary that she pass through it. Ferguson believed her to be a wizard. He said that in case you failed, there had to be a second option or Vantok would be left unprotected in an upcoming war. And not just Vantok but potentially the entire continent. He said a lot of things about balance and the need to have as many sympathetic wizards as possible. I guess you could say he convinced me this was about more than the money. After all, what good’s coin if there ain’t no cities to spend it in?”

“What happened at the portal?” asked Sorial. He had a sick feeling he knew the answer.
Ensure by whatever means necessary that she pass through it
. That sounded like Ferguson, who had said to Sorial:
The path is open for your prospective bride, should she hear the portal, to step through it and emerge transformed.
But had she stepped through of her own volition?

Rexall hesitated again, an internal battle being waged between complete honesty and prevarication. But he hadn’t been the only witness to events. Eventually, Alicia would tell her version. “She was going to enter on her own. It was as if the portal was pulling her to it. Then your mother jumped and the violence of her death - I ain’t never seen nothing like it - frightened Alicia. That was the moment. I knew I wouldn’t get another chance, not with Maraman in charge. So... I pushed her.”

Sorial bowed his head, fighting for calm. Part of him wanted to open the ground beneath Rexall’s feet and let the earth erase all trace of him. But this was Rexall, his friend. His
supposed
friend who had gambled Alicia’s life on the word of the scheming prelate. “She could have died. That push could have killed her.”

“Ferguson said...”

“You didn’t
know
. And you just saw my mother die. It would have been one thing for her to walk in on her own, to make that decision understanding the risks. But you took that away from her. You decided.
You pushed her!
”

“Don’t the results matter? Ain’t the world a better place cause of what I did? Ferguson said she was born to be a wizard. Now she is one. How can you say I did wrong by her or by you? What would you have done in my place?

“I would have let her choose.”

“Do you know why she left the temple? Why we went on this long journey? To find you. To
stop
you. That was her goal - to take away your choice. In the end, she may have changed her mind, but that was the reason for it all. And if she had chosen not to enter the portal, what then? Let her be Maraman’s hostage? As far as I knew, you were dead. Was I supposed to let the opportunity pass? If you died somewhere in The Forbidden Lands, Maraman eventually would have tired of waiting for you and given her to his men for entertainment. And if you had succeeded, as you obviously did, she would have made you beholden to him. You think there was no justification for what I did?”

Rexall’s arguments were persuasive, but Sorial couldn’t get beyond the stark truth that, if the scales of fate had balanced differently, the push would have killed Alicia. If another had previously claimed stewardship of Water, she would have perished as surely as Braddock and Kara had. He believed he could have forgiven all of Rexall’s other activities, but not the last one. It was too consequential. In a way, it was as bad as anything Warburm or Ferguson had done. A favorable result was not a justification.

“You can’t travel back to Vantok with me. You’ll have to find your own way. I suppose you’ll want to claim the rest of your gold. You’ve earned it. First, though, I’ll ask you to escort Aiden back to Sussaman. They’ll welcome you there. You did Ferguson’s bidding; that’s something they understand. They’ll throw a feast in your honor and fete you through the Winter. Wine, willing women, and dancing - all things you love. But you and I, we’re done. You ain’t got to worry I’ll come after you. That’d be petty and I got bigger issues to worry about. But the trust between us is broken. Too broken for me to see a way to fix it. Now get some sleep. You and Aiden head west at first light.”

* * *

She slept. Peacefully it seemed to Sorial, the perfect picture of serenity. He gazed at her as if he had never before seen her, drinking in this image as if there would never be another. She looked different, but no less desirable. As he watched her in repose, he recognized how different she appeared from the pixie who had first invaded his stable and life all those years ago, before any of this had been real.

She had cut her hair and colored it dark, although the dye was beginning to fade. Her body had ripened into a more womanly shape. While dressing her, he had noticed her fuller breasts and the tuft of fair hair between her legs. But she was thinner than he remembered, likely the result of having spent so much time on the road. He wondered when she had last experienced a good meal or spent a night in a comfortable bed.

He had no doubt he would look more different to her than she did to him. He had lost a hand, toes, and pieces of an ear. He had new scars on his arms, back, and face. Two of his senses were dead. Yet the most important change for both of them was hidden. That change would define the remainder of their lives: The Lord of Earth, The Lady of Water.

Alicia was dressed in the best fitting garment Sorial had been able to find, her own clothing having been lost. The robe she wore was many sizes too big but, cinched at the waist, it at least provided a buffer against the cold and a protection for her modesty (if the latter mattered to her).

It was mid-morning and, outside the tent, the snow was falling at a regular pace, muting sound and hiding sins. It drifted through the vent hole to evaporate in the heat of the cooling rocks and embers. They were too old now to offer significant warmth but Sorial saw no reason to re-heat them, although he might have been able to do it by magic. As soon as Alicia awoke, they would be off. Until then, there were enough furs to ward off the cold’s bitterest edge.

A part of him couldn’t believe she was really here with him after so much time spent waiting, wishing, hoping, and worrying. It also occurred to him that this was one of the few times they had been alone together. But they had paid a heavy price for this solitary togetherness. Lamanar, Kara, and Vagrum dead. Rexall dismissed. Sorial had lost more over the past season than Alicia; at least she still had a family. All he had left was a sister who wanted to kill him. And Alicia. They had each other. They could finally say that. Whatever else their individual journeys might have been about, the endpoint - being able to embrace one another without barriers of class or wealth interfering - had been worth the sacrifices. Or at least that was the case for Sorial. He hoped Alicia felt the same.