Sardach made a subtle shift in direction as he circled south around the city and slowed down. I must take you to Hellsbreath, he said. It was agreed.
Angus frowned, but he knew it was pointless to continue arguing with him. A Wizard’s Pact was binding, even if circumstances changed. It was his own fault; he should have worded it differently. Very well, Angus thought. You may walk with me to the lift. Once we are there, you will be free from my service and can return to your home.
Yessss, Sardach hissed to him. A few minutes later, they landed and Angus made his way along the road to the lift area. He strode up to the recorder and said, “I am Angus, the wizard for the Banner of the Wounded Hand.”
The old man nodded and opened his book. He thumbed through several pages until he reached one that satisfied him. He skimmed through it and asked, “Are the other members of your banner with you?”
“No,” he said. “Hobart and Ortis are on their way, but I do not know if or when they will arrive. Giorge,” he paused to sigh, “died.”
The old man nodded and dipped his quill in his inkwell and crossed off Giorge’s name. “Date and manner of death?”
“I am not certain of either,” Angus replied. “We were separated at the time. I lost track of them in the mountains, and my hope is to be reunited with them when they return here. They will be able to fill in the details for you.” Unless they died, as well.
The old man frowned up at him and said, “I suppose that will have to do.”
“It will,” Angus said, smiling. “I have no more information to offer than what I have thus far given. In the meantime, how long will it be before the lift is ready to rise again?”
The old man glanced up at the darkness and said, “There is little traffic tonight. It will be near morning, when the patrols change. Three hours, at least.”
Three hours? Angus repeated to himself. That’s too long. I need to get to the Wizards’ School. If Embril has done what I asked her to do, she may have left word behind. “I don’t think I’ll wait for it,” he said, looking up and drawing the magic into his awareness. “Is there anything else you need before I go?” There was plenty of air magic, and he selected the strands he needed.
The old man looked at him shrewdly and then shook his head. “No. I will wait to update the records when your companions arrive.”
Companions? Angus wondered as he nodded. Is that what they are? He turned away to cast the flying spell. It was a bit of a waste, really; his need wasn’t urgent enough to warrant it. He should wait for the lift, but it would take little time to prime for the spell again. Besides, he wanted to be rid of Sardach; the longer the elemental stayed with him, the greater the likelihood of his discovery. Even in the dark.
A minute later, he landed on the wall next to where the lift normally settled into place. The guardsman on duty scowled at him, and asked, “Did you check in below?”
Angus smiled and nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”
The guardsman shrugged. “Name?” he said. “I will have to check with them below.”
“Angus. I’m the wizard for the Banner of the Wounded Hand.”
The guardsman looked more closely at him, and said, “I thought as much, but you seem a bit different. Is that scoundrel Hobart down there, too?”
“No,” Angus said. “I’m not sure where he is right now. It’s one of the things I need to check on.” He looked toward the city. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go.”
The guardsman considered for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” he said. “We can always track you down later if we need to.”
Angus nodded and hurried across to the center railing of the wall. He paused there and thought, You may go now, Sardach.
There was no reply and no indication of Sardach’s presence near him. It didn’t matter, though; the elemental had fulfilled his part of the Wizard’s Pact and brought him to Hellsbreath. It was up to Angus from this point on, and the first place he needed to go was the Wizards’ School. He needed to find out about Embril. After that? It would depend on what he found out about her.
He stepped off the wall and flew gracefully, easily toward the Wizards’ School’s spire.
18
After four days, Embril was certain of one thing: she was no good at skulking through woods. She made too much noise. Her blue robe stood out too much against the gray and green and brown background. Her horse nickered at her too often, and she nickered back. It was reflexive, a kind of polite rejoinder that said “You’re not alone; I’m here, too.” She desperately wanted to stop doing it, but it had become almost instinctive. Lieutenant Jarhad’s glare didn’t help any, either. Fortunately, they found the camp before something else had found them.
“They should have gone on,” Lieutenant Jarhad said when he saw it. “I ordered Darby to wait three days. It’s been four.”
Embril shrugged. Why did that matter? The camp was there, and she was hungry, tired, and sore. She needed rest, and that was where she could get it.
“Tobar!” Lieutenant Jarhad called out as they entered the camp. As the wiry young soldier sprinted toward them, Lieutenant Jarhad dismounted. He towered over Tobar and demanded, “Where’s Darby?” as he handed his horse’s reins to him.
Tobar accepted the reins and stared at the horse’s neck. “I don’t know, Sir,” he answered. “He disappeared when we made camp here. He’s been gone for three days. I sent men to look for him, but they couldn’t find any sign of him.”
Why would Darby leave? Embril wondered, a sudden, intense knot forming in her stomach.
“Have you seen any dwarves?” Lieutenant Jarhad asked.
“No,” the soldier replied. “There was no sign at all.”
Embril lifted her leg over the saddle and slid to the ground. She leaned against the horse for a long moment and clutched its main, wondering why she was so apprehensive. What was it that was bothering her? Why did it matter that Darby was gone? There wasn’t anywhere for him to go, and—
Embril turned her gaze to the three peaks to the west. They were so close…. The knot in her stomach tightened to the point that she almost gasped. It can’t be! she thought. He doesn’t know—
“Nothing?” Lieutenant Jarhad demanded. “Where was he last seen?”
“He went into your tent when we arrived, and the next morning he was gone. We left it the way it was when he disappeared.” He glanced at Embril and quickly looked away again.
Lieutenant Jarhad turned to Embril and said, “Come with me.” Then he turned and briskly walked toward his tent.
Embril lingered against her horse for a long moment before weakly holding out the reins to Tobar. Then she followed the Lieutenant to his tent, each step more difficult to take than the one before. What’s wrong with me? she wondered, trying to fight off the peculiar, intense feeling. She ground her teeth and folded her arms to conceal her clenched fists inside the voluminous sleeves of her robe.
Lieutenant Jarhad flipped open the tent flap and stepped inside.
Embril followed, and the sudden gloom blinded her for a few seconds. When her eyes adjusted, she almost fainted. Her chest was sitting on Lieutenant Jarhad’s cot, and her books were scattered about, as if they had been thrown carelessly aside. One of them was lying open on the little table, and she hurried up to it. She glanced at the page and said, “He cast the Soft Passage spell. That’s how he got away without leaving any tracks.” What else did he do? she wondered as she stepped over to her open chest. This time, she did gasp: The false bottom had been removed! She reached in and quickly rummaged through what was still there. “No,” she said, her eyes widening. The scroll Angus had given her was missing! “No!”
Lieutenant Jarhad moved up next to her and demanded, “What is it?”
“It’s gone!” she gasped, rifling through the books on the cot, hoping to find it lying under one of them. “He took it!” But why? He couldn’t read it unless he knew ancient dwarf. But there were dwarves on the plat
eau….
Lieutenant Jarhad reached out and gently took hold of her shoulder and quietly asked, “What is it, Embril? What did he take?”
She bit her lip and looked at him. “A scroll,” she said. “See if you can find a scroll.” But where would it be? How did he know about it? She had told no one! Her breath suddenly caught in her throat. She needed to calm down, to think.
Still the mind, she thought. Where is it? she screamed at herself.
Still the body. She lifted her hands to her face and pressed her knuckles against her eyes.
Still the mind, she thought as her sleeves fluttered down to her elbows.
Still the body. She took a deep, soothing breath and let her roiling emotions pass over her in waves.
Still the mind. Why am I so scared? Why do I feel so alone? Why—
Still the body. She eased her fists away from her eyes and took another slow, deep breath. She held her hands out in front of her, but there was something wrong with them.
Still the mind, she thought. It’s missing too, she told herself as she ran her hand over her naked forearm. He took the Angst bracelet. But how?
Still the body. She reached into her sleeve for the scarf, but it wasn’t there, either. He had taken that, too.
Angus is dead, she thought, suddenly drenched in an overwhelming anguish that nearly swallowed her up. How—
Forget this conversation, Darby had ordered—and she had!
Still the mind, she thought, letting the memory of the conversation wash over her, letting her grief escape from its confinement. As it replayed itself in her mind, a deep sense of foreboding mixed with an overwhelming sense of loss.
I have failed him, she thought. Darby knows….
Still— Her knees buckled, but Lieutenant Jarhad caught her in his bulky arms.—the body.
Tears erupted from her eyes and flooded down her cheeks. He asked but one thing of me, and I failed him.
She whimpered. Angus is dead.
I failed him.
Darby….
19
Despite the small size of the key, Argyle held it securely between his massive fingers as he approached the tiny box resting on the high shelf in his personal quarters. He lifted the box with two delicate fingers and set it down on the little table next to his bed. He knelt down and leaned forward. His hand shook as he inserted the key into the tiny keyhole and turned it. The lid popped open and a bright yellow light escaped from the box, and Argyle stared at the large yellow diamond in the box. It was a rare gem, one that would be priceless even without the magic it contained within it. Argyle took a deep, steadying breath and reached for the stone. His hand shook as the huge paw passed through the box and the tiny fingers hidden within it took hold of the stone.
The light whirled, swirling around Argyle’s gigantic form and condensing it into something considerably smaller, considerably less hideous, considerably more feminine, and when the whirling ended, she slumped down onto the floor, covered by Argyle’s huge blood-soaked blouse and pantaloons. The cloth was heavy and smelled atrocious, but she reveled in it. How long had it been since she had been smothered by them? It took nearly a minute to crawl out from under them, and she was shaking uncontrollably when her head burst finally free. Once the rest of her followed, she looked down and laughed.
“Breasts!” she gasped, gleefully running her fingers over them. Tears threatened to tumble free as she felt the intensity of the sensations. “My breasts are back!” she chortled, caressing them like they were rare and precious silk. Then she bent over and looked down.
“It’s gone!” she squealed, sliding her hand quickly down past her belly. “That hideous monstrosity’s gone!” She eagerly fumbled around for a few seconds, and then clapped her hands and jumped up and down, “And the warts, too!”
She danced up to the mirror, relishing how her body—her body—felt for the first time in nearly three years. Her body. Grayle’s body. Not Argyle’s hideous form! She was finally free of the brute!
She studied herself in the mirror, relishing the lovely young form staring back at her. Her hair was a tangled, greasy mass of strawberry blonde curls, but they were her strawberry blonde curls and she loved them. She ran her trembling fingers through them and caught hold of one of the wavy strands and tugged on it until it straightened. It hurt, and she smiled at herself in the mirror. It was a toothy smile, one that desperately needed attention, but it wasn’t nearly as gruesome as Argyle’s gaping maw. She loved her smile, the way her teeth parted just enough for her tongue to peek out at her. And the eyes! They were lovely chestnut eyes, the kind of eyes that would shame a horse with their murky, filmy depths. She had done so much with those eyes when she was younger, and now—
She smiled. She would have the young men groveling over her in no time at all, once she reclaimed her life! She glanced down and her grin broadened. Not groveling, slavering. They’d be drooling over her with fawning admiration, and she couldn’t wait to let the first one slobber all over her. Hedred’s son, perhaps? He was a fine-looking young man, and he had doted on her often before—
Her grin faded a bit as she realized how long it had been since she had seen him—since he had seen her. What if he had forgotten her? She gasped. What if he found someone else to dote upon? Three years is a long time….
She reluctantly pulled her gaze away from the mirror and reached for its frame. There were studs in the frame, and she tried to remember the sequence she had to press to release it from its moorings and give her access to the secret passage that led to her chambers in the castle. She frowned, closed her eyes, and mentally ran through the once-familiar sequence, uncertain if she was remembering it correctly. Then she shrugged and opened her eyes. She pressed the studs and when she finished, the mirror clicked open. She grinned and pulled on its edge. It pivoted outward, revealing a dark, cobwebbed entrance to the dark tunnel beyond.
She frowned. There were supposed to be torches burning in the tunnel, but where were they? Felix would never have let cobwebs gather, either. Had her uncle given up on her? It had been months since he had last visited her himself….
No matter. She was Grayle again, and that was all that mattered. Argyle was over, and his organization had suffered much since Typhus had trapped her in his form. But that didn’t matter anymore, either. She was free again, and there would be plenty of time to deal with Typhus. And Angus ….
He killed Pug! she snarled in her mind. He’ll pay for that!
Argyle had agreed to his terms, but Grayle had not. There were things she could do, with her uncle’s help….
Epilogue
1
Stinky was bored. He had been bored for months, and it was finally getting to him. If only the fishmen would attack! But they were gone, and everybody knew it. Everybody but the king. He had them patrolling The Borderlands as if the fishmen were still skulking in there waiting to make a surprise attack. But they weren’t there, and Stinky was tired of the monotony of pointless patrols.
He sighed. His task was simple: walk the perimeter along the edge of the Death Swamps and look for signs of the fishmen. There hadn’t been any signs for months because the fishmen weren’t there anymore. He was also supposed to pay attention to the darkness, to make sure it was just darkness and not the shadows of fishmen preparing to attack, but it was tedious. For months he had patrolled the same two mile stretch of The Borderlands out of the same rigid sense of duty that had saved his life many times when the fishmen were there. But they weren’t there anymore, and he had gotten lazy. He had become lax in his duty, and when he looked into the darkness, he didn’t really pay attention to it anymore. It was dark, and that was all it was.
He still listened, but when he heard the rustling of reeds or the splash of water he seldom investigated it anymore. When he did check it out, all he ever found were the little marsh rats swimming around and building their reedy huts. Sometimes he hunted them for sport, but they weren’t particularly good eating and there were too many of the
m to make it entertaining. They made a lot of noise at night, and he had long-since attributed all of the noises he heard from the Death Swamp to them. So, that was what he thought he heard now, even though the base of his neck scrunched up as if it weren’t them. Could it be fishmen? Had they finally crept out of their muddy warrens to attack? He sniffed the air.
The swamps reeked hideously, and when he had first arrived in The Borderlands it had overwhelmed him. But after a few weeks, he had grown used to the stench, and not long after that he was able to pick out the rancidness of the fishmen from the rotting vegetation and stagnant water. His nose was one of the things that got him assigned to patrol duty. Most of the soldiers weren’t as discerning when it came to one foul odor or another; they were all the same to them. But there hadn’t been a whiff of a fishman’s stench in months, and there wasn’t any on the wind now. There was something, though, a faint hint of a new smell, one he didn’t recognize. It was almost pleasant—and that troubled him. Nothing pleasant ever came out of the Death Swamps.
Stinky inhaled deeply, trying to decide if the new smell—it was a bit sweet in a nauseating sort of way—was a forewarning of spring coming to the Death Swamps. There were flowers in it now, as if they knew the fishmen were gone and they could bloom with impunity. Maybe some of them were blooming early? If it was a flower, he didn’t recognize it. He was certain it wasn’t the fishmen, though; he knew their scent far too well for it to be them. It wasn’t the swamp rats, either; they smelled of the swamp with an undertone of musk and dirt. The splashes were wrong, too; the marsh rats danced on the water and whatever this was, it was slogging sluggishly through it. It was larger than a rat, possibly even large enough to be a man.
He put his hand on the whittled deer’s horn at his belt. It had been a long time since he’d sounded it, and that time there were no fishmen waiting for them. Gunther was not happy about that. “Waste of time,” he had said. He gave him privy duty for a week for that mistake. Still, he brought it up to his chest. There was something out there, in the darkness….
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