The Last Whisper of the Gods by James Berardinelli Read Free Book Online Page A

king’s private sitting room, each occupying a plush chair facing the fireplace, which housed a roaring blaze. The drapes had been drawn since twilight. With Harvest waning and Winter coming into prominence, the nights were becoming colder and longer. Soon, snow would begin falling even this far south on the continent. Soothsayers claimed it would be a long, unpleasant winter. In his heart, Azarak believed this to be true.
    “So, do you agree with them?” asked the king, exasperated.
    Toranim paused before responding. He knew this was a sore area for his friend, but the issue of the succession couldn’t be ignored. Azarak had no siblings or children. If he died without siring a blood heir, there would be civil war. Dozens of claimants would vie for rulership and the city streets would run red with blood. “It’s not a matter of agreeing or disagreeing. It’s tactless for them to press the matter so soon, but you can’t allow it to lie fallow for much time.”
    “I should choose a peasant girl from the streets or a Syrene witch. That would fix them.”
    “We’re not trying to ‘fix’ anyone. And, despite what you may think of them at the moment, they’re your advisors. They’re looking at things from a clinical point of view, filtering out the human element.”
    “It would be easier to take another wife if I hadn’t killed my first one. I need time.”
    “There are ways to stall your council. Let them think you’re considering candidates. That will delay them for a while, at least until after the Midwinter holiday. Smile at all the daughters of earls and counts and foreign dignitaries. Dance with them at state functions. Let your subjects believe you’re looking for someone to replace Amenia.” Toranim didn’t add what he was thinking: Maybe, in the process, you’ll find someone suitable .
    “When I next marry, it will be for the good of the city. I wed Amenia for love and look how it ended. That folly won’t be repeated.”
    Toranim was glad to hear that. He had made a show of supporting his friend’s first marriage despite his misgivings. She had been beautiful and lively but the wedding had purchased little political gain for the king. This time, it would be different - either closer ties to one of his most important vassals or forging a link with another city. King Dax of Earlford would be sending his youngest daughter on a “diplomatic” mission to Vantok in the late Summer or early Harvest season of next year. Although not yet 15, she would be of marriageable age when she arrived. Such a match would make sense for Vantok and its distant northeastern neighbor. Rangarak of Obis, the so-called “Iron King” of the far north, had sired three daughters. The eldest was already betrothed but the middle girl, Princess Myselene, was of an age when she could be courted. Vice Chancellor Gorton had already contacted him by bird-messenger about arranging a meeting.
    Changing the subject, the chancellor said, “There’s an issue that will require your attention when you return to public life. Civil unrest is growing because of a series of disturbing religious rumors.”
    “Let the priests handle religious matters. I have a city to run.”
    “The problem is that the priests are not handling the matter, at least not in a consistent fashion and it’s having repercussions. Some of the watchmen feel the rise in crime is directly related to this. You’re free to ignore it, Your Majesty, but I think it will fester until it is cauterized, and that will require your attention.”
    “Tell me about the rumors.” The king sighed, knowing this would likely force him into meetings with Prelate Ferguson, one man in Vantok with whom he would prefer not to converse.
    “According to a growing sect, the gods have turned away from the world. There have always been religious dissidents, but this movement is more persistent than anything before. Two weeks ago, the prelate of the temple in Basingham resigned with a