“Yes, Sire,” she said as she stood, bowed, and walked away. As she reached the door, she heard him stand from the table and the scraping of a chair being moved.
She did not turn around.
9
There was something familiar about the village, but Taro couldn’t remember visiting it before. Maybe it was just the way villages all looked the same as you approached them? They all smelled of smoke and manure and fresh bread. The farmers tending to their animals or fields looked up for a moment and then ignored him and returned to work. Children scampered about, sometimes laughing and screeching, sometimes carting water. Then the village center, where he would find an inn or a tavern with rooms. Sometimes there were a few soldiers, but they tended to stick to the cities and garrison forts. Sometimes there were other travelers. Always there were pickpockets, cats, and dogs.
He paused outside a large building with a sign hanging in front of it that had a beer mug and a cot on it. An inn, then, and by the look of things, it was busy for late afternoon. He bolstered his nerves and puttered up to the door. Laughter, clanging mugs and plates, and a few shouts assaulted him as he opened the door and stepped into the common room. It was spacious, with a dozen or so tables arranged around a large fireplace in its center. He stared at the flickering flames and red-hot coals for a few seconds. They looked familiar, too, and this time he knew he hadn’t been here before. He would never have forgotten that fireplace. It was like an open pit with low walls. He shook his head and hobbled boldly forward, clacking his walking stick on the hardwood floor as he went.
The patrons ignored him. He tapped more firmly until a few of them turned his way. He glared at them in what he hoped was an ominous way, and they chuckled at him.
“The old man needs the outhouse,” one of the young men loudly declared. “It’s out back,” he added, pointing toward the rear door.
His tablemates broke into laughter, and the men at the tables nearest them turned to watch what was happening.
Taro angrily pointed his walking staff at the young upstart who had cracked wise, scowled at him, and then shook his head as the anger left him. “You are young,” he said, his sad voice hollow and scratchy. “Just wait until you’re my age. Then make that wisecrack.”
“Nobody’s your age,” the youngster deftly replied, eliciting a little more laughter from his chums.
“Now, now, Grathis,” the barmaid said as she gathered up a few empty mugs from a nearby table. “Show the old man a little respect and listen to what he has to say.”
“He’ll have to speak up for that,” Grathis droned, holding his hand to his ear and winking.
This time there were only a few chuckles as the barmaid shook her head and turned away. But the young man was right. Taro needed to speak louder. He wasn’t an orator or a bard, and most of his talking over the past few years had been soft mumbling addressed to himself as he waited for the vision to come true. Now that the vision had come true, he had to remember to speak louder and enunciate. He nodded. “Right you are, youngster,” he bellowed. Almost everyone laughed, and he tried to ratchet down the volume a bit as he continued. “Friends,” he said, even though he didn’t know them. “I am Taro, Great Elder of The Sacred Order of Prophetic Sight.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, was it? Who else could lay claim to that title?
“The what?” the young man asked with a smirk. “I thought they called you guys SOPS?”
Before the crowd’s laughter could get out of hand, Taro nodded and firmly tapped his staff. “Yes,” he agreed. “We have been called SOPS on occasion, but no more! I have seen the future,” he paused and lowered his voice a bit, “and it is bleak.”
“Bleak?” the young man repeated. “How can it be bleaker than this?” He gestured expansively.
This time, no one laughed.
“I’m glad you asked,” Taro said. “Let me tell you of my vision.” He paused, straightened, and spread his arms wide. His voice was firm, if raspy, and he punctuated the syllables with added emphasis as he half-sang his vision-song. At the end of each line, he smashed his staff on the thick wood floor with gusto:
A DAY will COME with NO re-TURN [Bang!]
for HE who STANDS a-LONE [Bang!]
a-MID the FLAMES that DO not BURN [Bang!]
a-MID the MOL-ten STONE. [Bang!]
He paused at the end of the stanza, but before he could continue, the crowd was laughing uproariously and smashing their mugs on their tables. Amid the ruckus, the young man shouted, “Hey! We’ve got a court jester a-MID our RANKS!”
By the time they had settled down enough for him to continue, Taro had completely forgotten the second stanza he had composed. He tried to stammer through it for a few seconds, but that just made them laugh more so he gave up.
“Listen,” he bellowed at last, his frustration coming through in the volume of his shout. “There’s fire on the horizon! It’s coming our way! I’m here to warn you about it!”
“Fire, you say?” the young man countered. “Surely we have buckets aplenty to deal with it.”
Taro shook his head and hobbled forward until he was teetering in front of the young man. “Buckets will do you no good,” he said, pity dripping from his words. “The flames spread across the whole of the land, the likes of which haven’t been seen in a thousand years!” Is that what’s going to happen? he wondered. Is that why I said that?
“Oh, really,” the young man asked. “You were there, then?”
Taro glared at him and shook his head. “Mock me, if you wish,” he said. “But mark my words! There is hope! A wizard stands at a crossroads, and he alone can stop the flames. He alone can save us—save you. But,” he paused and leaned forward, tottering unsteadily on his bum knee. He sighed and almost whispered, “The wizard doesn’t know it. How can he save us all if he doesn’t even know he’s needed?” He shook his head and pushed himself wearily back from the table. “I must find him,” he declared. “I must tell him he is needed. If I don’t,” he shook his head and let a great sadness creep over him and steal away his words.
There was a long silence, and then a blurry man near the back wall started clapping. He was a portly fellow half-hidden in shadows and obscured by his bad eyesight, and the crowd turned to look at him. “Well done, Master Taro!” he called out in a familiar voice. “I almost believe you have seen another vision,” he added.
Taro blinked and hobbled around the tables to get a closer look. Can it really be him? he wondered as he neared the man. When he came into focus, Taro shook his head and said, “Humphrey.”
“Master Taro,” Humphrey said, half-rising and gesturing to the chair beside him. “Please join us.”
Taro nodded and sat down awkwardly, his right leg held rigidly straight and off to the side.
“I see your knee has worsened,” Humphrey said. He turned to a doughty woman at his side and added, “Clareth—” he paused and turned back to Taro “—this is my wife, Master Taro. She has a friend with herbal knowledge who lives just outside the village. I am sure she has a poultice that can ease your discomfort.”
“Well, now,” Taro said as Clareth rose to her feet. “A wife no less? Well met, Clareth.”
“Well met, Master Taro,” she said, bowing slightly. She was tall and had neatly braided auburn hair. She glanced at Humphrey, who nodded slightly, and then hurried through the crowd. They were drinking and laughing again, but the din was tolerable near the fringes.
“Now,” Humphrey said, “tell me of this wizard.”
Taro frowned and shook his head. “I can’t,” he admitted. “The visions—”
Humphrey smiled and shook his head. “Now, Master Taro, are you still clinging to that?”
“But I have had visions!” Taro protested. “A lot of them. Too many. They’re a jumble, and I haven’t been able to pull them apart so I can piece them together.” He shook his head. “You know what they’re like. The first one I had led me to that shrine, and it finally completed itself. And how!” He glanced around th
e room and leaned closer to Humphrey, who leaned in to hear what he whispered. “I found an incense room,” he happily added. “It was full.” Then he smiled broadly and leaned back again.
Humphrey studied him for a long moment before saying, “You know, Master Taro, I believe you.”
Taro grinned. Humphrey had always believed him. If only he had had a little more dedication! But how could he have expected Humphrey to remain any longer? Ten years without a vision was enough to sap the will of any man. “You know what?” he asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “I brought some of it with me.”
Humphrey stared at him but said nothing.
Taro nodded several times and said, “You can have a vision yourself, now.”
Humphrey frowned and shook his head. “I have a family, Master Taro. I’m not leaving them.”
Taro shrugged. “I didn’t say you would have to,” he said. “But if you want to have a vision, you can. The incense is powerful. I saw dozens of visions when I used it the first time.” He paused and shook his head. “That’s the problem. There were too many of them. All I know for sure is that this wizard dressed in black was in Hellsbreath—or will be. I can’t be sure. One vision showed me that he was on the walkway of the Wizards’ School’s spire. I don’t know why, so don’t ask me. Another vision showed me the land scorched by flames with him standing in their center. I have to get to Hellsbreath so I can find out who he is and where he is. He has to stop it from happening.”
“Stop what from happening?” Humphrey asked.
Taro shook his head and grumbled, “I don’t know. I can’t sort through these blasted visions on my own; there are too many of them. They merge together when I try to focus on them.” He paused and looked hopefully at Humphrey. “Maybe if you help me, I’ll be able to sort them out?”
Humphrey frowned and shook his head. “My family—”
“You don’t have to come with me,” Taro pleaded. “But if you can help me clarify the visions, I would be in your debt.” He paused and then added, “So would the Western Kingdoms.”
Humphrey frowned at him, and then studied the contents of his mug for several seconds. Before he spoke again, he drained his mug and softly set it down on the table, as if it were a fragile glass vase. “I can offer you lodgings and a few coins to help you on your way,” he said. “That is all.”
Taro sighed. He knew that resolute tone. It was the same tone Humphrey had had when he had told him he was leaving for good. He had tried to talk Humphrey out of it, but his arguments had all failed. Humphrey had made up his mind, and he was not going to change it. “All right,” Taro said. “I won’t drag you into this.”
“I—my family appreciates that,” Humphrey said. Then he raised his hand, shouted “Barkeep!” and pointed at his mug and then at Taro. The barkeep nodded, and Humphrey set his mug down. “At least we can share a drink or two,” he said.
Taro smiled and nodded. “It has been a long time since I have drunk with a friend.” Then he rubbed his arms and asked, “Perhaps we can move closer to the fire? There is a chill draft here.”
Humphrey smiled and nodded. “I would think you would be accustomed to drafts by now, living up in that shrine all these years.”
Taro shook his head. “The sea breeze has put a permanent chill in my joints,” he said as he wedged himself upright. “Even the fire in my vision couldn’t steep the perpetual chill from them.”
They made their way slowly to a table next to the open fireplace in the center of the room, and Taro turned his chair to face it before sitting down. Even Humphrey doesn’t believe me, he thought. How can I convince them of the danger if I can’t even convince Humphrey? That disrespectful young man needs to learn some manners, too! He stared at the fire, its flames so much like what he had seen in one of his visions. They haven’t seen my vision have they? Maybe if they had, they would believe me and realize the danger they are in. He continued to stare at the flames as a smile tickled the edges of his lips. His hand crept down to his belt and fiddled with the drawstrings of the pouch. Yes, he thought as he loosened them and reached inside. He wrapped his fingers around a clump of the fine incense powder and brought it slowly out of the pouch. It had a strong aroma, and he could already feel his senses sharpening. I’ll show them the vision, he thought as he leaned forward and tossed the incense into the fire.
As the serving wench set down his beer, she asked, “What’s that? A spice of some sort?”
Taro smiled. The smoke was already beginning to writhe into a frenzy of thin, wispy snake-like tendrils. “Yes,” he muttered. “A spice of some sort.”
Humphrey looked at him and then turned to the fire.
Snake heads were forming, and their glowing red eyes were seeking out their targets. It wouldn’t be long, now.
Humphrey leapt from his chair and shouted, “What have you done!?” The raucous crowd grew silent and turned to them.
“I am old and tired,” Taro said. “They laugh at me because they do not understand.” The snake heads emerged from the fire, their smoke-like bodies stretching out from the flames like a many-fingered specter. He had seen that in one of his visions too, just as he had seen the fireplace and village. He hadn’t realized it before, but that part of the vision crystallized in his mind. Something important is about to happen, he thought. “Now,” he said, “they will.” He turned to Humphrey, who was staring wide-eyed at the apparition approaching him, its red eyes piercing his soul long before its fangs struck his temple. Humphrey was ill-prepared for it and staggered back. “So will you,” Taro whispered, watching Humphrey sag to his knees.
He turned back to the fire. The snake-like tendrils had fanned out from the fire to seek their unsuspecting prey. Three of them had already attached to Taro, but he had been prepared for it. The disorientation he had felt the first time it happened was still there, but it wasn’t as debilitating as it had been when he wasn’t expecting it. He even sensed that he could control the vision somewhat, possibly direct it to what he wanted to see instead of passively allowing it to take him where it wanted to go.
Some of the villagers screamed as the snakes began to strike those nearest the fireplace. Those closest to the doors ran. The snakes let them go and settled on those who remained. Then the vision came, and reality faded into the background. The wizard stood in front of him, his dark blue eyes intense, angry. The muscles along his jawline were taut, and his nostrils flared out. His arms hung rigidly at his sides as he demanded, “Why have you detained me?”
“King Tyr ordered it,” a voice from behind Taro said. Taro tried to turn, but the image of the wizard stayed directly in front of him no matter which way he faced. “I’m sorry Angus, but you cannot leave the city. Your paraphernalia—I believe that’s what you wizards call it—will be confiscated and placed in the care of the Grand Master.”
Angus? Is that his name? The wizard’s black hair swished as he shook his head. “You cannot keep me here against my will,” he said.
“Now, Angus,” the voice said in a reasonable tone that made it seem like he was patronizing him instead of offering consolation. “As long as you are a member of Hobart’s Banner, you are subject to the king’s command. You will abide by that command and stay in the city. If not, I have been given orders to arrest you.”
Angus looked over Taro’s left shoulder and frowned. Several seconds passed before he said, “That will not be necessary.”
“Good,” the mysterious man behind him said. “The king has plans for you and your Banner, but he has not deigned to tell me what they are yet. When I receive your orders, I will expect you to be ready to fulfill them on short notice.” There was a pause, and then he asked, “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened? Where are the other members of your Banner?”
Before Angus could reply, the vision began to fade and a new one replaced it. There was a crossroads, and as he approached it, a metal clad behemoth on a giant white horse turned to face him. Beside the warrior, cloaked in the shadows at the ed
ge of the vision, were three pale riders with bows and a boy on a pony. But it was the warrior who mattered, and the other men held back while he rode toward Taro and reined in his horse. “Well met, Old Man,” the warrior said as he reached up to remove his helmet. A bright glare reflected from his sweat-stained forehead that made it difficult for Taro to see him clearly, but it didn’t matter. He knew he would recognize him if he saw him again—when he saw him again.
“Well met, Hobart,” he heard himself saying.
10
After putting Iscara’s chair back in its proper place, King Tyr finished his meal and sat in thought for a long time. There was only one question that puzzled him: Why had Sardach helped Angus? Iscara was right: Sardach should have killed Angus and taken the key. It was not like Sardach to defy Argyle’s commands. He was still mulling the puzzle over when Phillip returned.
“Sire,” Phillip said as he came to a stop. “The cleaning wenches have nearly finished with Grayle’s room. Is there anything you need me to do before I clean the tunnel you showed me?”
King Tyr glanced at Phillip and nodded. “Before you clean the tunnel, I want you to go down the stair and see what is in the large chamber at the other end. Do not go beyond that chamber for any reason. Be surreptitious. It would be best if you were not seen while you are down there.”
“Yes, Sire,” he said. “Is there anything in particular that I should be looking for?”
“Grayle, of course,” King Tyr said.
Phillip hesitated, bowed, and said, “Yes, Sire. Is there anything else?”
“If you find her alive, return to me at once.” King Tyr hesitated, grit his teeth, and added, “You do not need to bathe first.”
Phillip blinked and his eyes widened. Then, after the king dismissed him with a wave, he bowed and hurriedly left.
“Is she alive?” King Tyr whispered. “Or did Angus kill her? If he has….”
Angst (Book 4) Page 5