Angst (Book 4)

by Robert P. Hansen

  She frowned. Why did she think that? It wasn’t like her to be so vicious, was it? Demanding, yes. Pouty, yes. Angry, yes. But not mean. Her eyes widened. That was Argyle. He was vicious, cold….

  The door to her rooms started to open, and she twisted around and hurried up to it. She smoothed her dress and smiled. Her uncle—

  Phillip squeezed through the door and quickly lowered his gaze. “Milady Grayle,” he said as he bowed. “The king is delayed. He will arrive within the hour.”

  An hour! Grayle glared at Phillip. I could do so many things in an hour!

  “He begs for your patience,” Phillip said.

  “Ha!” she snapped. “My uncle begs from no one.”

  Phillip cringed, and hastened to say, “A poor choice of words, Milady.”

  “Indeed!” she said, whirling around and stomping over to the bed. She twisted around and plopped down on the cushioned surface, thrust her lower lip out as far as she could, and looked up at him through her wavy blonde bangs. “How much longer must I stay cooped up in here?” she wailed. “I want to see the sun! I want to smell the spring flowers!”

  “They aren’t blooming yet, Milady,” Phillip offered.

  Grayle glared at him until he squirmed, and then she began to giggle. He was so cute when he didn’t know what to do—and she had an hour. Perhaps—

  “Milady,” Phillip said, his eyes lowered. “I have other errands….”

  “Errands!” Grayle screamed. She leapt to her feet and stomped up to stand before him. “Is that what I am?” she demanded. “An errand?”

  Phillip gulped, and said, “M-my apologies, M-milady. I chose my words poorly.”

  “Hmph,” she grumbled, setting her fists on her hips and glaring at him.

  “Milady,” Phillip bowed again. “I beg leave to excuse myself….”

  She whirled again and almost skipped to her bed. She sat down amid a whirl of cushions and, as she began rearranging them in a more suitable order, said, “Beg, then.”

  “M-Milady?”

  “You said you would beg,” she said, smiling as she looked at him through one eye. “So beg.”

  “Please, Milady,” Phillip begged. “I must do the king’s bidding. Surely you can understand—”

  Grayle shook her head. “You poor beggar,” she said, giggling. “I could do better,” she added as she lay back and waved her hand above her. “Go then, and tell my uncle my patience is dead. Argyle has killed it.” She rolled over and stretched out. She had an hour….

  She spent that hour rearranging the things in her rooms the way she wanted them, not the way Grayle had kept them before. All but three of the pillows were neatly arranged on the bed according to size (barely discernible differences), color, and the softness of the nap of the cloth. The other three were tossed haphazardly on the floor beside the bed. Some of the bedding was spread out on the floor next to them, while the rest was neatly arranged on the bed. Her toiletries were arranged alphabetically, except for the brushes and combs, which she had set out backward. The clothes were carefully organized in her closets, but a few purple gowns were thrown in a pile on the floor. She had even cleaned the table—all but the stains from wiping her mouth on the fine linen cloth covering it. The wine….

  The next time she saw Phillip, she was going to have him bring her some grog. It was a foul-tasting swill, but she had acquired a taste for it over the past few years. The wine tasted fruity—too fruity for her liking. Grog was better. Once she was satisfied, she went to stand in the precise spot where her uncle would expect her to be when he arrived, and waited. Minutes passed by as she counted them and focused on what she was going to do when he let her out. The first would be Hedred’s son—Phillip had told her he hadn’t been betrothed yet, thankfully—and then she would demand a feast fit for a princess!

  By the time the door opened, she was quite excited by the prospects, and then her uncle stepped inside. He looked so grim that her heart curdled in her chest.

  “My dear Grayle,” King Tyr said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He smiled—a kindly smile that did not fill his heart or eyes. His eyes were dark and haunted at the edges, and she knew he had bad news to tell her. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but she did. She had always been able to see past her uncle’s façade because she had constructed one like it for herself. Only…

  “Uncle,” she said, smiling as she curtseyed. “It has been too long.” By three years!

  A touch of humor crept into his smile, and he nodded. “Indeed,” he said.

  “No matter,” she sidled up to him and took hold of his arm. “I’m here now.”

  King Tyr resisted being pulled out of the room. Instead, he put his hand on hers and patted it. “My dear,” he began, “we must talk.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But let’s do it in the gardens. I haven’t been in the sunlight for so long.”

  King Tyr gripped her hand tightly and pulled her back into the room before she could make it through the door. “Not yet,” he said. “There are some things you need to know first.” He paused and guided her to the table. “For one thing, you’re dead.”

  “What?” Grayle demanded.

  King Tyr helped her into her seat and then sat down precisely opposite her. His eyes fell to the grease spot on the linen as he said, “When it became clear that you had lost the key, I made it known that you were ill. It was a reasonable explanation for your absence, and the healers I hired attested to it. As time went on, we hinted that you might die, and when that story was no longer viable, you did.”

  “But I’m not dead!” Grayle protested. “How could you tell everyone I died?”

  King Tyr’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened, but his voice was calm as he said, “There was a funeral. You were dressed in your favorite gown, and hundreds came to bid you farewell.” He turned his gaze away for a moment. “Your sudden return would undermine the lie that was so carefully constructed to explain your absence.”

  “I’m not dead!” Grayle protested, her arms flying about her. “See?” she said, slapping her arms, her chest, her face. “I’m alive.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” King Tyr snapped. “But to everyone else—except Phillip—you are dead. I can’t let you out until we have an explanation the people will accept.” He paused meaningfully, and then added in his sternest tone, “At the very least, you owe that to the one who died in your stead.”

  Grayle glared at him in defiance, and with an effort held her tongue. A part of her found the idea of someone losing their life to protect her—their—secret appalling, but most of her dismissed it as irrelevant—no, as a necessary deception. So what if someone died for her? A lot of others had died for her—because of her—over the past few years, hadn’t they? What was one more? How could King Tyr—

  “You were a fool, Grayle,” King Tyr snapped. “You should never have lost that key. How could you leave Typhus alone with it? Your dalliance cost far more than what it was worth, and if you were anyone else, I would not hesitate to punish you severely for it.”

  Grayle continued to glare at him, but she knew better than to snap off a retort she would later regret. He was the king, and she was in his castle, wasn’t she? If he were in her domain—

  No. She was Grayle. She was not Argyle. She—

  “Unfortunately,” King Tyr continued. “I need you.”

  She folded her arms and looked down at the stain in the linen. Why didn’t I wash that out? She shook her head and sucked in her lips. She trembled as she thought, How could I wipe my mouth on that?

  “You must return. Argyle must return.”

  She gasped and her head snapped up. “No!” she cried, standing up and not caring that her seat fell backward. “I won’t do it! I’ve been stuck with him for three years. I’ve had enough!”

  “Sit down!” King Tyr roared.

  Grayle’s hands shook as she glared at him until tears welled up in her eyes. Then she slowly, casually, turned to pick
up her chair and set it an inch off-center. She did not look up as she sat down, and her shoulders trembled as she fought the urge to scream at him.

  “Now,” King Tyr said in a calm tone. “I am pleased that you have been freed from your burden, but I need you to return to it. You have the key, and if you safeguard it as you should, you will only need to host him for a short time. But you must host him. The damage that you have done to his organization over the past few years…” His eyes grew cold as he forced himself to calm down. “You wasted so many men….”

  Grayle lowered her eyes even further. He was right. So many of her best men had met their end at Typhus’s hand, but how could she not pursue him? She had to get the key back, and her uncle knew it. Surely—

  “I understand why you did it,” he said in a kind tone, “but the cost was great. Argyle’s organization is weak. He needs recruits. His most trusted henchmen are dead.” He paused for a moment. “You will give a full accounting of that to Phillip. I want to know exactly what led to the loss of Pug and Sardach. Exactly. But I don’t have time to hear it at the moment. There is much happening that you do not know about, and I need but one answer from you for now. Was Angus the one who did it?”

  “Angus!” Grayle screamed. “I’ll have his head for what he did! He made Sardach kill Pug! Then he freed Sardach! I—”

  The king held up his hand to stop her tirade, and then continued in a sharp tone. “Tell Phillip. He will relay what I need to know. For now, you must bring Argyle back. If he remains absent much longer, they will think him dead. If they think him dead, others will vie for his position. There will be great turmoil and—” he paused and looked meaningfully at the stained linen “—disorder.”

  Grayle fumed. If she could get her hands on Angus’s neck, she’d wring it herself. She loathed the wizard and what he had done, but there was nothing she could do about it herself. She would have to work through other avenues, and one of them was King Tyr. Her voice shook with anger as she offered, “If you have Angus killed, I will do it. If you do not, then I won’t.”

  King Tyr scowled at her and said, “Leave Angus to me. I have use of him.”

  Grayle shook her head and said, “I won’t host Argyle, then.” She rubbed at the stain with her fingers and added in a small voice, “He is so hideous.”

  “Now, Grayle—”

  “Milord King,” she said, despite it being a private conversation. “I will not do it until after I have felt the sun on my face and smelled the spring blossoms. Grant me at least that much.”

  “My dear—”

  “Please, uncle,” she begged, letting the tears spout from her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to be him. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  King Tyr studied her for several seconds, and then stood up and walked to the door. “We will talk of this again,” he said as he looked around the room. He frowned at the pile of clothes on the floor, the misplaced pillows, the rumpled bedding. “After you have had a chance to recover.” He turned to open the door and glanced back at her. “I will arrange for Phillip to escort you outside for a short time tomorrow. Disguise yourself. You must not be recognized. In the meantime, do not leave these rooms.” He quietly shut the door and left.

  Grayle stared after him, feeling the tears dripping from her chin.

  21

  Embril sat rigidly on the edge of the cot, her mind reeling. Angus was dead, but she couldn’t think about that know. She had failed him. Darby was gone. He had stolen the scroll Angus had given her and disappeared. If he knew how to read ancient dwarf….

  Is Angus dead? she suddenly wondered. Giorge hadn’t seen him die….

  There were dwarves around. She had seen them tossing dried mushrooms into the fires….

  But he was dead. No one could have survived what Giorge had seen. No one, not even—

  Darby didn’t need the scroll; he had the scarf with the map Angus had woven into it. She blinked back tears. She had even told Darby to follow the red thread. Why did I tell him that!

  Lieutenant Jarhad knelt in front of her and lifted his hand. She stared through him as if he wasn’t there. He didn’t matter. Angus—

  Darby had taken the Angst bracelet. It was important. But why? Angus had told her she would understand when the time came. She had thought he had meant when she had read the scroll, but the scroll never mentioned the bracelet. When, then? At least she hadn’t told Darby about what it meant. How could she? She didn’t know. If she had known—

  “Darby’s a Truthseer,” she said, her voice flat, unemotional. It was the only explanation. Tears began to creep from her eyes. Why was she crying?

  Angus—

  Lieutenant Jarhad’s stern eyes softened as he nodded. “Yes,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “Why—” Embril’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open as the breath froze in her lungs. A moment later she blinked through the blurry haze and met Lieutenant Jarhad’s gaze. “Why would Darby want The Tiger’s Eye?” she asked, her tone as empty as her forlorn heart.

  “The what?” Lieutenant Jarhad asked, leaning back on his heels to study her.

  “The Tiger’s Eye, of course,” Embril repeated in the sharp tone she sometimes used with her students when they weren’t paying attention. “It seals the nexus point. Removing it—” Her eyes widened and she blinked rapidly. “Oh, no!” she rasped, her voice quivering from the sudden onrush of dread. “He wouldn’t—” She lifted her clenched hands to her lips and shook her head. But he had. She was certain of it.

  “Wouldn’t what?” Lieutenant Jarhad asked, his lips tight and a bit of his usual surliness settling back onto his face.

  Angus— She shook her head and tried to clear her mind of him, but she couldn’t. Every time she thought of Darby, she thought of Angus, and her anger and indignation held the sharp edge of grief and loss.

  Darby hasn’t done it yet! she suddenly realized. If he had taken The Tiger’s Eye, the disruption in the magic would be seen for miles! There’s still time to stop him! Her heartbeat quickened for a moment, and then a second thought fell upon her, almost silencing it. How can I find him? There’s no trail because of the Soft Passage, and without the map, there’s no way for me to know where to look if—

  “Giorge!” she half-shouted as she bit into her knuckles. Giorge knows the way! He was with Angus when—

  “What do—”

  Embril suddenly leapt to her feet, and Lieutenant Jarhad rapidly backstepped a few paces.

  “Fetch me a fresh horse,” she ordered. “The freshest one you have. And find Giorge. I need him now.” She turned to her books and rapidly shuffled through them. When Lieutenant Jarhad didn’t move, she paused long enough to glare at him and say, “Hurry! I must catch up with Darby before it’s too late!”

  Lieutenant Jarhad lingered a moment longer, nodded as if he were acknowledging an order from a superior officer, and ran quickly from the tent. He had been gone less than a minute when Giorge opened the tent flap and he and his mother walked in.

  “Embril?” he began. “I—”

  Embril had found the tome with the Swiftness spell and was thumbing through its pages. “You know where it’s at, don’t you?” she demanded without looking up. He was with Angus when Angus found the nexus, and he was with him when—

  Giorge paused a moment, and then asked, “Where what is?”

  “The Tiger’s Eye,” Embril said, her fingertip falling on the Swiftness spell.

  “The Tiger’s Eye?” Giorge laughed. “That’s just a myth. Nobody knows where it is.”

  Embril glared at him. “You were with Angus in the Angst temple, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Giorge said, shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other. “But we never found it.”

  Embril brushed the tears from her cheeks and turned back to the tome. “Did you find the nexus?” she asked.

  “Oh, that,” Giorge said. “Angus said something about a nexus just before he ran off and left us in their dungeon.” He
paused and then shook his head. “I didn’t know him well, then, and thought it was a silly reaction. Now,” he shrugged. “I think I’m glad we didn’t stick around.”

  She nodded. “It was wise for him to run. I would too, but I can’t. Darby knows where it is. So do you. I need you to take me to it before he can find it.”

  “The nexus?” Giorge asked. “It’s not that difficult to find if you know where to look. Angus knew where to look. So do I, but I can’t see what he did. You might be able to, though, since I think he was seeing something magical that led him to it.”

  “All right,” Lieutenant Jarhad said as he entered. “Are you going to tell me why you need the horse?”

  “Bring the horse inside,” Embril said as she turned to him. “Pack provisions for a week for Giorge and I. We will be leaving the moment I finish casting the Swiftness spell.”

  “Leaving?” Giorge repeated.

  “Where are we going?” Lieutenant Jarhad demanded without moving.

  “We’re going after Darby,” Embril said. “He’s gone to the Angst temple.”

  Lieutenant Jarhad demanded, “How do you know that?”

  Instead of answering, Embril snapped, “Bring in the horse. There may still be time to stop him.”

  Lieutenant Jarhad glared at her and demanded, “Stop him from doing what?”

  Embril turned sharply and moved to stand before him. Her tone was icy as she said, “There is no time, Lieutenant. If I can’t stop him, it will be disastrous. There’s no telling how many volcanoes will erupt if he disrupts the nexus.”

  Lieutenant Jarhad was standing with his hand gripping the tent flap. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered. “There’s no hint of an eruption—”

  “Lieutenant!” Embril roared. “There won’t be! The eruption will happen without warning, and it will stretch the length of the mountain range before it’s over. Now,” she took a deep breath and tried to force her anxiety to settle down. “Please bring the horse in here, and while I am casting the spell, you should break camp and make haste to return to Hellsbreath. There may still be time to warn them.” She turned and quickly went back to the Swiftness spell.