A deep-seated pain erupted in her eyes and her lips tightened as she turned hastily away from him and said, “Because of what he did to me.”
Giorge’s voice was soft as he asked, “What did he do?”
Her lips quivered as she curtly answered in a low, vicious tone, “He raped me. I was thirteen.” She sat stiff and rigid for a long moment, and then her shoulders sagged as she exhaled and added, “He said the curse made him do it, but I never understood that until now.”
Giorge stared at her, a chill blossoming in his chest that made it difficult to breathe. He had expected that answer, but it was still difficult to accept. They had left his uncle behind, in Symptata’s tomb…. “He was my father?”
His mother slowly nodded. “It happened when the curse struck him,” she said. “He disappeared later that night.” She turned to him, and despite the sadness in her eyes, she smiled. “You were the only good thing that came of it,” she said, her eyes lingering on him. As she turned away, she muttered, “I don’t think he could help himself,” before falling silent again.
Giorge didn’t know what to think, what to say. She had told him long ago that his father was dead—and he had been dead—but had never said anything else about him. But his uncle? He had been his father?
The rubble pile returned, and it was carrying two books. It flattened out as if it were sitting down and leaned one of the books against its side, opened the other one, turned it around, and held it out so Giorge could see it. “Is this the mushroom?” it asked.
Giorge looked at the drawing and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That’s what Angus showed me.”
The rubble pile pulled the book back, closed it, and then reached down to open the other one. He held it out and showed Giorge another picture, but before he could say anything, Giorge pointed and exclaimed, “Hey! Those are the things the fishmen were herding like cattle.”
The book hovered for a long moment and then the rubble pile brought it back to itself and picked up the other one. It rose up and moved away from them.
“We shouldn’t talk here,” his mother whispered. “There are too many ears.”
Giorge nodded and turned his attention to the fire. He had a lot more to think about than he had had in a very long time.
10
After Iscara left the room, Angus took a moment to make sure the key was still in his pocket. Satisfied that it was, he focused on the magic to find out where Typhus was. The last time he had seen Typhus he had been in Iscara’s bedchamber, and if he was still there Iscara could be bringing him back instead of his backpack. But instead of seeing through Typhus’s eyes, he saw magic! The threads radiated out in a colorful mosaic the way it had before Sardach had ripped Typhus out of him. Had Iscara healed that, too? If she had, perhaps his robe was a fair price to pay.
Angus recovered quickly and turned his attention inward to study the spells he still had primed. Perhaps one of them could be used on Iscara? But why? She wasn’t his enemy, was she? Besides, if she had his backpack, he would be able to pay her for the healing she had provided. His gems might not be enough, but it was all he had—except for the garnets that remained from when he had started out, and he would need them for an inn. Now that he could do it, it would take most of a day to prime for his spells, and he needed a private room for that. It would delay his visit to Argyle, but that was unavoidable. He needed to be as fully prepared as he could be when he faced Argyle, and even though he still had the wand, he was sure it wouldn’t be enough.
He was still making plans when Iscara returned with his backpack. She set it on the cot next to him, and he quickly went through its contents. He frowned. The tunic had been folded wrong. He didn’t care about the tunic, but it puzzled him. He took it out and set it on the cot. He spread it out and ran his hands over it. It was smooth—too smooth; where were all the little bumps? The pockets were empty! But who could have taken what was in them? They were difficult to locate, and there was no hint of the cloth being cut. Whoever had stolen from him had known where the pockets were, and that meant—
Typhus! It was the only explanation, wasn’t it? He was still here, and Iscara was hiding him. He reached for the backpack again and, without looking up, asked, “Who has had access to my backpack while it has been here?” He took out his scrolls one at a time, counting them to make sure they were all still there. They were—if they were his scrolls—and then continued his inventory.
“It was kept in a locked room,” Iscara replied. “Only myself and my assistant have keys.”
Angus smiled. Typhus wouldn’t have needed a key; he could easily have picked the lock. He probably had, but what he had taken was rightfully his anyway. It was his tunic and so were the things in its pockets. But what else had he taken? Angus hurried through the unimportant, easily replaceable items until he reached the bottom. The pouch of gems was still there, but when he lifted it, it seemed lighter than it should have been. He loosened the drawstrings and upended the pouch. He was relieved to see the small pile of large gems settle into place on his palm, but there were fewer of them than there should have been. The large emerald was gone, and so were two of the rubies. He took the most valuable ones, Angus thought, and left me the rest. He sighed and held them out to Iscara. “I trust this will be fair compensation for the healing?” he asked, a bit uncertain.
Iscara accepted the gems and toyed with them with her finger. “It was a difficult healing,” she said, “one that required the services of a master healer. This,” she jiggled the gems and the tinkled against each other as they settled, “is barely enough to compensate her.”
Angus shrugged. “There were a few others when I arrived at the gates,” he said. “Perhaps our friendly blue ghost was here?”
Iscara gnawed on her lip for a moment, and then shrugged. “They will have to do, I suppose.”
So, Angus thought, he is here. If he wasn’t, she would have demanded more. “You have my gratitude,” he said, “and I will make further payment when I am able.” What further payment could he offer? He had no more wealth than what he carried, and he needed what was left for himself. The banner could pay for it, but they were at the other end of the kingdom. So was their treasure. Would he ever return to Tyrag with—
The banner’s treasure! Angus suddenly thought. Giorge hid some of it in Tyrag, didn’t he? Where did he say it was?
Before he could delve into his memory, Sardach intruded upon him. We must go to Argyle.
Angus jumped and looked at the cloud of smoke hovering in the middle of the chamber. “We will go when I am ready,” he said before he realized he was speaking aloud. Then he thought, I must prime for my spells first. I cannot face Argyle without them. He would kill me on sight and take the key.
He will not, Sardach replied, but he did and said no more than that.
Iscara stared at him with fierce and unfriendly eyes that betrayed her true nature. Then she glared at Sardach and snarled, “You should have let me cut off his foot!” Then she turned to Angus and snapped, “You’re healed, and you will go now.” Then she turned and stormed out of the room.
Angus stared after her for a long moment, and then returned his possessions to his backpack. He looked at a few of the scrolls to make sure they were his, and when he finished, he secured the flap and stood up. The floor was cold, and he looked down. Why was his left foot chilled? His robe should be compensating for it. He brought the magic into focus and frowned. The magic in his foot wasn’t connected to the magic in his robe! The threads had been frayed! He gasped. He would have to fix that as soon as he could. If he didn’t, his foot could freeze and fall off—or burn to a crisp when he cast Lava Man! In the meantime, he would have to do what everyone else did: wear boots. But he didn’t have any boots, did he? He needed a tailor’s shop, first, and then an inn. Prime for his spells and get a good night’s sleep before he confronted Argyle.
11
After Darby returned her books, Embril rested. There would have to be a decision about Giorge
and his mother, and if they were to go with them, she would have more spells to cast. She needed to rest, but she wasn’t tired. Her thoughts strayed to Angus, and each time they did, she felt a great pang of anxiety and quickly thrust them aside. She didn’t know why she had thrust those thoughts aside, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a good thing, since Angus was probably dead, and every time that thought crept up, her stomach tightened and her eyes watered—and then the thought was swept aside and she could focus again.
She sighed. It would be easier if she had something to do, but she didn’t. The spells would have to wait until Lieutenant Jarhad returned. It would be his decision, and there was nothing she could do about it until then. She frowned. He should have been back by now, shouldn’t he? He had only gone to do a little reconnaissance up to the river, and then he was going to come back again. It should have only taken a few hours at most, but he had been gone more than half a day. What could have delayed him?
She stood up and stretched. She had been sitting down too long, and she needed to move around. She walked aimlessly through the cavern, reciting the mantra as she went. It was a soothing mantra, but something about it wasn’t quite right. It was as if the magic within her was too pliable, too receptive to it, and that thought should have distracted her from it. But it didn’t. Instead of following the curious thought where it might lead her, she simply acknowledged it was there and returned to the mantra until the thought resurfaced again—and then she dismissed it again.
While she ambled, her mind fairly clear and focused, she saw the box Giorge had dropped. She moved up to it and bent down. What was in it? Where had he gotten it? It was an ornate box, stained a chocolate color with silver studs, quite pretty and no-doubt expensive. Had Giorge stolen—acquired—it? Isn’t that what Angus had said about him? That Giorge acquired things from other people when they weren’t watching? If that’s the case, who had he taken it from? Symptata?
Does it matter? she asked herself. It’s his box, not yours. She held it out in front of her and studied it for a few more seconds. Then she lowered it to her side and turned to the tunnel. She would have to ask him about it. She strode steadily, with purpose, but when she exited the tunnel, she stopped. There was a considerable amount of commotion around an outcropping just inside the cave entrance, and it broke off and moved rapidly toward her. As it approached, it said, “Embril.” It was Lieutenant Jarhad. “We have a problem.”
Embril was completely calm as she asked, “Of what sort, Lieutenant?”
“We can’t see our gear or horses,” he said. “If it weren’t for the horses finding each other, I would have lost my men in those trees. The concealment there is nearly complete. There is no way we will be able to work together during battle.”
Embril blinked. She had not anticipated such a difficulty when she had conceived of the plan; she was only concerned about getting across the plateau as quickly as possible without being noticed. She had not thought about engaging in battle, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have realized how important it would be to see each other. It was a foolish oversight, perhaps, but what did it matter? She shrugged and said, “Fortunately, this is a reconnaissance mission.”
The outcropping stood as still as stone for a long moment and then Lieutenant Jarhad said, “We still need to see each other so we can stay together. In here, the stones look somewhat out of place, especially when they move, but out there it’s different. The spell shifts with the scenery and we resemble swaying branches, shadows, pockets of greenery—things that naturally move when the wind blows. It makes it far more difficult to see each other, even when we know we’re there.”
Embril shrugged. “The horses will stay together,” she said. “They will follow where the monarch goes. Have her rider set the pace and direction, and tell everyone else to give their horses their heads. They will follow her.”
What was wrong with the Lieutenant? He should know that, shouldn’t he? Why was he upset, anyway? If he couldn’t see them when he knew they were there, then no one else would, either. The only reason the horses were able to locate each other was because they used more than their sense of sight to interact with each other.
“And when we need to eat?” Lieutenant Jarhad asked, his tone derisive.
Embril shrugged. “I recall where my gear is,” she said. “Don’t you?”
The outcropping shook for a moment and then demanded, “What of them? How long will it take to conceal them for the trip?”
“Half an hour,” she said. “Which horse will they ride?”
“They’ll be doubling up with two of my men,” he said. “Does it matter which ones?”
Embril nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I will need to weave them into their spells. It would be easier to have them be a separate spell, but the conflict between the concealing images will be noticeable.” She paused and looked at Giorge and his mother. He was considerably smaller than herself, and his mother was tiny, almost childlike. Perhaps they could both ride with her? She hadn’t cast the concealment spell for herself or her horse yet, and they could ride together without overburdening the steed. “No,” she said. “It will be simpler and easier to have them both ride with me.”
“You?” Lieutenant Jarhad scoffed. “The way you ride?”
Embril fought the urge to scowl as she said, “Yes. This time, there will be nothing under the saddle blanket.” She turned away and held the box out to Giorge. “You dropped this in the cavern,” she added. “It seemed to be important to you.”
“What are you going to do to us?” his mother asked.
“You are going with us,” Lieutenant Jarhad said as the outcropping turned away.
“I need you two to come with me,” Embril said, then she moved to the only horse that looked like a horse in the cave, neighed softly to it, and led it into the tunnel. “Bring the pack beast,” she added.
“What pack beast?” Giorge asked as he hesitated and looked around.
Embril turned and called, “Tobar?”
“Here,” a stalagmite said as it stepped up to Giorge with a large bolder in tow. Giorge jumped and held out his hand. Then he and his mother stepped in behind Embril and followed her into the tunnel, the bolder clacking softly behind them.
12
Leslie was not like the other horses. She had been trained for battle when Hobart had bought her, and they had waged war together for years before he had left the service. That training and her familiarity with Hobart saved them both.
“Hold!” Hobart shouted a few seconds before striking Leslie’s rear legs. She responded instantly by bringing herself to a rigid stop and turning to look back at him. She braced herself for the impact, and Hobart flexed his knees to soften the blow when he struck her. She stood firm and waited for his next command. It gave him enough time to use her leg for leverage, and he pulled himself up to his feet. He clung to her tail as he said, “Easy step forward.”
She took a half-step forward and stopped. When he had his balance again, he gave the same order. They continued their slow descent until they were both on the rise blocking the stream. The top of the rise was fairly dry, and once they were on the softer grade beyond, it widened enough for Hobart to step around to the front of Leslie. He had to hang on to the saddle to maintain his balance, but once there, he hugged her neck and said, “Good girl.”
She whinnied softly and nuzzled him, and then Ortis was standing beside him.
“I can walk no further,” Hobart said. “But I can ride the rest of the way if you help me into the saddle.”
Ortis nodded and a few minutes later his other self was there to help. “We lost two more horses,” he said, once Hobart had a stable perch. “Let’s not lose any more of them.”
Hobart nodded. Millie had been an excellent steed, and Giorge would be saddened by her loss if he hadn’t already died. “We’ll need to reclaim the saddles and gear when we reach bottom,” he said. “It will be on our way to Ned’s cave.”
Ortis nodded. “I’v
e reached Dagremon’s. She was surprised to see me and has lots of questions. I’m going to rest before I start back with the supplies. My horse needs it as much as I do.”
“All right,” Hobart said. “Let’s hope Ned has something we can eat. Otherwise, you’ll have to do some hunting.”
“Game will be sparse down there,” Ortis said as he moved forward and took hold of Gretchen’s reins. He lifted himself into her saddle and urged her forward at a slow, steady walk.
Hobart fell into place behind him, and the second Ortis took up the rear guard position. There were only three of them left. Hobart frowned; Ortis and he were all that remained of the banner, and they had lost too many horses. He could replace the horses easily enough—he still had the gems Angus had gotten from selling that book—but what was the point? He was going to be in the Western Kingdoms for the rest of the year, and he wasn’t sure if he would even come back. Would Ortis go with him? Did he even want Ortis to go? Did he even want to continue the banner at all? He could sell what remained of the banner’s property and retire to some village or other where they would appreciate having a veteran like himself living among them. Someplace on the fringes of the kingdom near an outpost where things sometimes happened. That would be the life, wouldn’t it? Security most of the time with occasional incidents to get the blood flowing.
Hobart sighed and hunched forward. He needed to stay in the saddle, and it wouldn’t be easy to do that if he wasn’t paying attention. He would have to dig the saddle straps out of his gear the next time they stopped. He let Leslie have her head and concentrated on staying alert enough to keep from falling out of the saddle. After a few minutes, he let the world around him fade into the periphery and dropped into a near-sleep state, one in which he was aware of Leslie’s movements and how they kept the funny-looking dwarves from attacking.
The Golden Key (Book 3) Page 33