Then another stalagmite shuffled into the cavern with a woman wearing a powder blue wizard’s robe close behind. Was she the wizard who had cast the spells? Was this her lair? It wasn’t the cave he thought it was; it was a wizard’s hole and her minions had captured his mother! He lowered the Eye and was about to scuttle backward when she turned and looked directly at him. Her long red hair whipping about her shoulders as she lifted her hands high and her eyes—
Giorge blinked. Even at a distance, he could see that each eye was a different color. One brown and one blue….
Can it be her? Giorge wondered. Few have eyes like that. He had harangued Angus for three days with lies about his winter conquests before Angus had finally told him about her, and even then his description had been cryptic. She’s a lovely witch with flaming red hair and intriguing eyes—one blue and one brown. She is a masterful librarian, and her assistance in my research has been invaluable. It had taken nearly half an hour to wheedle her name out of him, but what was it?
“Embril?” he asked, his tone soft and uncertain. That was it, wasn’t it? That was what Angus had said, wasn’t it? She was the librarian at the Wizards’ School, and he had befriended her. They had grown close, but he hadn’t told him any of the luscious details. Still….
“No,” she muttered, barely loud enough for him to hear. “But there is something….”
“You are Embril, aren’t you?” Giorge asked more confidently. If it was her—and it was—then the men would have to be—
He was where he had thought he was!
He braced himself, looked at the strange rock formations, and declared in a strong, clear tone, “I am of the Banner of the Wounded Hand. I demand all rights and privileges accorded to one of my station.”
Embril’s eyes widened as she whispered, “Giorge?” She paused, and then asked, “You are Giorge?”
Giorge nodded, “Yes. I am Giorge.” He nodded to his mother and added, “That is my mother, and she is under the protection of our Banner.”
Embril started toward him, but one of the clumps of rocks shifted and moved into her path. She pushed it out of the way and stepped through a part of it as if it weren’t there. There was a harsh sound, like a stone shattering into a thousand tiny fragments, and then she was standing in front of him. “Where is he?” she asked, her eyes flat and fully dilated. Angus had said the blue one was deep and warm, but all he saw was a fierce, deadly chill in it as she stepped even closer and demanded, “Where is Angus?”
The intensity in her eyes held a disturbing, unspoken threat, and Giorge quickly replied, “I don’t know. We got separated a few days ago.” Was it really only a few days ago? It would have taken them that long to get to the Viper’s Skull, and it felt like it had only been a few days. But his mother had been entombed for years without changing….
Embril’s eyes widened as she repeated, “A few days? But—” She turned to look down the tunnel from which he had emerged. “Where—”
“He isn’t down there,” Giorge hastily said. “I don’t know where he is. That thing took him.”
Embril slowly turned back to him and asked, her voice deadly calm and her fingers quivering anxiously at her sides. “What thing? The hermitog?”
Giorge frowned. What was it Angus had called it? “He said they were elementals. I think he called one of them Sardach. We had just gotten over that plateau and were heading down the lift to break the curse when they attacked. He was struck first, and then the other one attacked me. I don’t know what happened to him after that.” But I died, he almost added before he captured and held his tongue in place.
Embril studied him for a few seconds, then turned and slouched down the low tunnel. Giorge leaned back against the cavern wall and waited. While he did so, he turned to the rocks and demanded, “Are you going to release my mother or not?”
One of the rubble piles moved up to him and stopped. “In time,” it said. The sound was peculiar, like wind blowing through a canyon, but the words were quite clear. “Let’s have a chat, first,” it said, putting a smooth, cold, stone-like grip on his shoulder. “A nice long chat.”
2
The room was brightly lit by a Lamplight spell, and Angus shaded his eyes to give them a chance to adjust. A few seconds later, he realized he was using his right arm and there wasn’t any pain. He cautiously shifted position, and there wasn’t any grinding of bones in his shoulder. He reached across his chest with his left hand, and there wasn’t even any tenderness in the shoulder. He flexed his elbow, and it felt as it had before his injury.
Iscara? he thought, moving his arm away from his eyes. It didn’t look like Iscara’s herbarium, but he had only seen a part of it. This room had a high table with a lot of blood on it, and the rancid stench of decay was prominent. If he hadn’t been smelling rotted flesh for days, he might have gagged, but he had grown accustomed to it. He sat up easily and when his bare feet hit the cool floor he realized he was naked. He pushed aside the thin blanket that had been draped over him and shivered.
It wasn’t particularly cold, but he was used to having a steady body temperature. His robe was draped over the table, so he stood up slowly and put his weight on his left foot—his new left foot by the look of it. It was a still pink and had no calluses, and there was no hint of rotting flesh rising up from it. It felt peculiar, as if the coolness of the floor was magnified by the newness of the skin, and he fought the urge to lift it off the floor. When it was clear his foot would hold his weight without difficulty, he took three short steps to the end of the table and picked up his robe. He held it out in front of him, opened it wide, and shook it gently, as if he were Ortis sprinkling herbs into his stew. A few flecks and chunks dropped from it, but other than that, it was clean. Had someone washed it? he wondered. Or just shaken it out? It didn’t matter. He put it on and tied the sash, reveling in the return of its customary warmth. It felt wonderful to be able to move normally, and he quickly turned to the second task: finding his backpack.
We must go, Sardach urged into his mind, startling him. The key must be returned.
Angus nodded as he thought, Soon. I must prepare for my encounter with Argyle. He walked around the table looking for his pack. He had gone only halfway around when a guardsman pushed aside a tapestry and stepped into the room.
“Good,” he said. “You’re awake.”
“Yes,” Angus said, squinting at him. He was clean-shaven and had an angular jawline, and his black hair was worn short. Angus frowned; he looked familiar, but from where?
“I wasn’t sure you would make it,” he added. “It took three healers to mend you.”
Three? Angus wondered, raising his eyebrows. He smiled and flexed his right arm. “They did wonderful work,” he said. “I feel as I did before I struck the mountain.”
The guardsman frowned at him, shrugged, and asked, “Then you can answer a few questions?”
Angus considered for a moment before replying, “If I am able to do so.” He finally remembered where he had seen the guardsman: he had been the one in charge at the city gates when he arrived. He had let him into Tyrag, but only after Angus had suggested there were fish on the wind.
The guardsman nodded. He was a lieutenant, wasn’t he? Isn’t that what the silver wrapping around the hilt of his sword meant? Or was it the umber tunic? “Good,” he said. “I need to know what you meant last night when you said the King’s Shield was broken.”
Last night? Angus thought, flexing his right elbow and scrunching up his left toes. They worked quickly…. “All right,” he said. “I didn’t say it was broken; I said I should have said it was broken.” He paused, wondering what he should tell him. “Perhaps it may be dented, though,” he mused.
The Lieutenant stepped closer and lowered his voice. There was urgency in his tone as he said, “There have been rumors, but we don’t know what to make of them. Something’s stirring in The Borderlands. Do you know anything about that?”
Angus frowned. The Borderlands? What co
uld be happening up there? Something stirring? “I don’t know about up north,” he said. “I crossed the mountains south of Hellsbreath. But I thought the fishmen had left the Death Swamps.”
The Lieutenant nodded. “We thought so, too. But something is happening up there. It’s different from the fishmen attacks, more subtle. We think something else is moving into them.”
Angus considered this piece of news and a chill swept over him that his robe couldn’t chase away. Something else in the Death Swamps? Had it chased away the fishmen? “I think the fishmen,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “are at the Lake of Scales. I think,” he paused, “something scared them out of the Death Swamps, something much worse than them.” Something with a long, long memory.
The Lieutenant raised his eyebrows and relief mingled with something else in his eyes. Disbelief? Hope? He exhaled and the tension eased from his face as he smiled. “The Lake of Scales, you say? You saw them there?”
Angus shook his head. The guardsman had entirely missed what was important. “No,” he admitted. “I overheard some things that have led me to conclude they are there. My banner wasn’t able to confirm it before—” He looked at his right shoulder and shrugged. It felt good to be able to shrug without hearing bones crunching together. “They may have made it there by now. We got separated.” He paused and shook his head. “There was a patrol from the villages by the lake, and they were talking about the sudden appearance of something from the north. Our banner had encountered a few fishmen on a plateau in The Tween, well north of the Lake of Scales. I think they passed through the tunnels under the mountains with the dwarves’ help and came out of those tunnels at the Lake of Scales. But they hadn’t attacked the villagers, and that puzzled me. I think I understand why, now. If what you say is true, it would explain a great deal about the Fishmen Incursions. A more vicious enemy—probably from the lands north of the Death Swamps—may have forced them into The Borderlands, and their attacks may have been out of necessity. At least that would explain why they haven’t attacked the villagers at the Lake of Scales.” Angus frowned and rubbed his bearded chin. Unless they are biding their time? It was all finally coming together. Something was in the Death Swamps, but it wasn’t the fishmen. It was the Plains Folk. It had to be them, didn’t it? But what were they doing there? And—
“Rumors,” the Lieutenant said. Then he grinned. “Rumors keep us alert, and that’s what we need right now. Fishmen at the Lake of Scales?” He laughed. “Missing men in the north? Deserters, no doubt. Nobody wants to go to The Borderlands anymore. Rumors about the dwarves being seen in Wyrmwood’s mines? They never leave their own tunnels.” He shook his head and chuckled. “More rumors than we can handle, eh?”
Dwarves— Angus frowned and added this bit of information, this rumor, to the puzzle and watched it shift perspective again. What are the dwarves up to? What part were they to play in the storm that was coming? Wyrmwood’s mines….
“Maybe you should check on those rumors,” Angus suggested, not really caring very much if they did.
“Oh, we do,” the Lieutenant said. “We always do when they come from credible sources.”
Angus staggered back to the cot and sat down. He lifted his hand to his forehead and groaned. It wasn’t entirely an act; he had felt a sudden wooziness pass through him that was gone before he had reached the cot. He took a long breath and added, “There is no more that I can tell you, Lieutenant. It is little more than conjecture at the moment, and I am sure you have much more information about what is going on than I do. Perhaps we can talk later, after I have rested?” He didn’t intend to see the Lieutenant again, but if he did, he would have questions ready for him. But not now. He needed to deliver the key to Argyle and get back to Hellsbreath. If the dwarves were on the move in The Tween, Embril would be in danger.
The Lieutenant was about to say something when Iscara moved the tapestry aside and stepped into the room. She was as he remembered, but with color. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and her lips were thick and more red than most. Her eyes were a dark brown that crept toward black—or was she looking at the magic? They could be heavily dilated….
The Lieutenant glanced at her, nodded, and said, “I’ll send for you later.” Then he ducked around Iscara and left the room.
After the Lieutenant was gone, Iscara pulled the tapestry closed and turned to Angus. She put her fists on her hips, and demanded, “How do you know me?”
3
Where did Giorge come from? Embril wondered as she hurried down the tunnel. When she had killed the hermitog she hadn’t looked for another exit, but there must have been one down there. But where? She hurriedly examined the tunnel for any sign of one but found none. But there was a hint of magical residue lingering at the back of tunnel that might explain Giorge’s sudden appearance. But this residue wasn’t like any from a spell she recognized. It had been wrought from a strange magic that seemed to be disconnected from the rest of the magical energy around it, and it hadn’t even disrupted its normal flow. But that wasn’t possible, was it? The magic had been tamed by the nexus points centuries ago, and there hadn’t been any free-floating magic of note since then.
Embril frowned. Giorge had mentioned an elemental, but no one remembered how to summon them. The kings had seen to that when they banned the wizards from studying conjuration magic. A few renegades still dabbled in it, but most of the knowledge had been lost when the Wizards’ Schools’ libraries had been gutted. Where had the elemental come from? The curse Giorge had mentioned? There were rumors that old magic still lingered in strange places, and they had gone up to that plateau people believed was haunted. But that plateau was south of Hellsbreath, and this cave was well north of the city. How could he travel that far in a few days? Even Swiftness couldn’t travel that far so quickly. But there were spells that could transport people over long distances the same way that wizards sent messages, but they were rare and difficult to manage. The network of knots involved were extraordinarily complicated….
She turned back toward the cavern. She didn’t have enough information, and there was only one way to gain more: Giorge. She should have stayed and asked him more questions. He knew what she needed to know, and instead of talking to him, she had run off down the tunnel. Why? To find Angus? But Giorge had said he wasn’t down here, that they had gotten separated. She shook her head. There were no answers in the tunnel; the answers were in Giorge.
Embril hurried back down the tunnel, but before she got to the cavern, someone yelped in pain. When she reached the cavern, she saw it had been Giorge. He had dropped the box he was carrying, and sagged heavily against a rubble pile—Darby?—with his hand pressed to his side.
“What is it?” Darby asked him, his tone detached and a bit perturbed. “Are you injured?”
Giorge nodded. “My rib’s broken,” he said. “And my ankle.”
The pile of rubble gestured and a stalagmite came up to Giorge’s other side. Together, they carried him toward the cave entrance.
“Wait!” Embril called, running up to them. “I need to talk to him.”
“So do I,” Darby said. “But not now. I need to tend to his injuries, and you need to finish casting your spells. We should have been ready to leave by now, and Lieutenant Jarhad will be returning soon.” Then he turned to one of the other strange rock formations and said, “Get your horse and find Lieutenant Jarhad. Tell him what’s happened.” The rocks seemed to roll over each other as they hurried through the tunnel ahead of them.
Embril glared at him. How could he expect her to cast spells now, when Giorge was so close and he knew what had happened to Angus? What did she care about the mission, anyway? The fishmen weren’t on the plateau, were they? Angus said he thought they were under it! Her lips tightened as she reminded herself that Angus could be wrong; the fishmen could be on the plateau, and if they were, Hellsbreath could be at risk. And the nexus. She sighed. Darby was right; she needed to finish the spells. Then she would talk to Giorge w
hether Darby was done with him or not.
Darby didn’t wait for her answer; he turned to the men holding the woman and said, “Bring her.” He and the stalagmite entered the tunnel at a slow pace, Giorge limping between them, and two of the men followed with his mother held firmly between them. Embril almost followed them, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned back to her book and sat down.
Angus needs me, she thought, but he isn’t here. He would want me to protect the Tiger’s Eye. She stared at the instructions for the spell but couldn’t see them. The symbols seemed to be alive, crawling across the page as her thoughts wavered. She closed her eyes and saw the rugged image of Angus hunched over an old tome, slowly leafing through the pages until a phrase sparked his interest and held the brutal intensity of his gaze. He would slide that narrow, almost bony finger tip along the runes as he read, and—
Still the mind.
Her lower lip quivered as she fought to suppress the image, the soft rustle of the page as her fingertip traced the pattern of the runes she wasn’t reading.
Still the body.
She went through the mantra for several minutes before she was finally able to read the instructions for the spell, and then she glanced up and asked, “Who’s next?”
One of the stalagmites led a rubble pile toward her, and she started weaving together the knots for the Swiftness spell.
4
It was dark when Hobart woke to find Ortis studying the cliff face above them. He felt refreshed, stood easily, and stretched. His muscles were still a bit sore, but other than that he felt almost normal. Then he remembered that he had felt the same way when he had woken up the day before, and the feeling had only lasted a few hours before the fatigue had set in. Still, in those few hours they could make a great deal of progress down the cliff face—if it was safe enough to try.
The Golden Key (Book 3) Page 30