“Yes,” Lieutenant Urt said. Hobart didn’t really like him. He was too stoic, and Hobart had difficulty trusting men who didn’t laugh and drink once in a while. But that didn’t stop Hobart from talking strategy with him when their paths had crossed. “Our first priority has to be the people of Hellsbreath.”
Commander Garret shook his head. “No,” he corrected. “Our first priority is to obey the king’s orders. If he sends us to fight the fishmen, we will go. But I doubt he would leave Hellsbreath unprotected at a time like this.”
Hobart frowned. What had he missed? He hadn’t been gone that long, had he?
“Now, Hobart,” Commander Garret said. “Assume these mountains—” he pointed to the west and north of Hellsbreath “—were erupting and you needed to evacuate Hellsbreath in a hurry because the dome suddenly failed. Where would you start?”
Hobart had to fight back the urge to laugh derisively. What Commander Garret was suggesting was absurd; the dome couldn’t fail, and those mountains had not erupted since the Dwarf Wars ended. But something about the way Commander Garret had asked the question led him to take it seriously—if only as a tactical exercise—and he looked down at the map. “Barges,” he said at once. “There should be enough skilled laborers to oversee the building of them. The river is still flooding, which makes it dangerous, but the wizards should be able to help with that. If not, there should be more than enough backs on the barges to carry the gear past the rapids downstream.” He pointed at three places along the river that started north of Hellsbreath and meandered in a southeasterly manner past the city. “It’s impassable here, here, and here. There are places to go ashore to avoid the rapids, and once you’ve gotten to this point—” he indicated a spot where a smaller river joined the large one “—leave the river and head north. It’s about a two day ride to reach the plains, four by foot—maybe five for townsfolk. Or you can go south and reach the road skirting Tyr’s border. It’s a bit rougher going that way and takes longer.”
“Barges?” the third lieutenant—the skinny one Hobart didn’t recognize—said. “We had not considered those. There won’t be very many shipbuilders here, but we might find a few craftsmen up to the task.”
Commander Garret nodded. “Find out. We need to know the options available to us.” He looked up at Hobart and said, “Thank you, Hobart. I fear I have been in these mountains for too long. I would not have thought of the river as an escape route.” He looked at the others and added, “Get some rest. We’ll resume our discussion in the morning.”
“Have a seat, Commander Hobart,” Commander Garret said, gesturing at the chair near the end of the table. “We have things to discuss.”
“So I gathered,” Hobart replied, trying not to sound surly.
“Well,” Commander Garret said as he walked over to a side table and poured a mug of wine from a large jug. “We don’t have to do so with our mouths dry.” He poured a second mug and brought them back to the table. He held one of them out for Hobart, who accepted it with a nod, and then set his down on the table. “Are you aware of the situation?” he asked as he sat down.
Hobart frowned. “What situation is that?” he asked.
Commander Garret reached for his mug and said, “Your failure to return to lead my men to the fishmen you found last fall has led to disaster, Hobart.”
Hobart frowned. How could that be? Did the fishmen—
“I suppose you couldn’t have anticipated it—unless that wizard of yours said something to you about it.”
“About what?” Hobart demanded. He disliked the kind of roundabout way of getting to things that high ranking officers tended to employ; it was one of the reasons why he had stayed with the mounted infantry for as long as he had. They spoke plainly.
Commander Garret surveyed him for a long moment, and then shrugged. “Why don’t we begin with the reason you’re here? The king has a task for your Banner, and I assume you will understand his orders, because I don’t. Here they are,” he added, picking up a small slip of paper and reading from it. “The Banner of the Wounded Hand is hereby ordered into The Tween to retrieve what has been taken. Once it is found, it is to be returned to its rightful place.” He set the paper down and waited.
Hobart frowned and repeated the orders precisely. “‘The Banner of the Wounded Hand is hereby ordered into The Tween to retrieve what has been taken. Once it is found, it is to be returned to its rightful place.’ What is that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t understand it, either?” Commander Garret seemed disappointed as he set the note on the table.
“No,” Hobart admitted.
Commander Garret sighed. “I was afraid of that. But it doesn’t matter. The message wasn’t addressed to you, even though it is for your Banner. It was addressed to Angus. Apparently, the king expects him to understand it.”
“Does he know about it?” Hobart asked.
Commander Garret shook his head. “It came in earlier today, along with other orders. I expected him to check in the way he has every day since he returned, but he hasn’t. I’ve been busy too busy to send for him.”
“Well, I will be sure to ask him about it when I see him tomorrow,” Hobart said.
“Good,” Commander Garret said, handing him the note. “It is strange that your Banner has been ordered into The Tween at a time when I have been ordered to remove all my men from the area and evacuate those few who dwell there. It is a challenging task.” Commander Garret paused, and then shrugged. “But who am I to question the king’s orders? He has his reasons, just as I do when I give orders to my men. They don’t need to know those reasons in order to obey my orders, because they know if they don’t perform their duties, the overall scheme can be thwarted.”
Hobart heard the rebuke in the offhanded comment and accepted it. Perhaps he should have sent word back to Commander Garret to let him know they weren’t going to make it back in time to accompany the patrol to the temple ruins? No matter. If it was a serious infraction, he would have done something about it—something other than an indirect verbal exchange. Perhaps being of equal rank also helped?
Commander Garret picked up his mug and held it between his hands as he leaned back. “You know, Angus must have done something to upset the king,” he added. “When he arrived, I was told to confine him to the city and confiscate his wizards’ paraphernalia for the duration of his stay. That order was quite clear when it arrived. This order—” he pointed at the slip of paper by Hobart’s hand and shook his head.
Hobart frowned. What could Angus have done to anger the king? It couldn’t be because they hadn’t come back to guide the patrol to the Angst temple; Commander Garret had made that request, not the king. It couldn’t have been anything they had done while trying to rid Giorge of the curse, either—
Hobart clenched his jaws and reached for his mug of wine. Taro had said he saw Angus talking to a man about being unable to leave someplace—could it have been Commander Garret ordering him to stay in Hellsbreath? If so, what about Taro’s other so-called visions? Would they come true, too? Was he a real seer? He lifted the mug—it was too small in his grip—and took a swig of it. The wine was too sweet for his taste, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t really thirsty.
“I don’t know what it could have been,” Hobart said after he set the half-empty mug back on the table. “I can think of nothing Angus—or the rest of us—did that could have caused such displeasure. At least while we were still together.” Did Angus do something he shouldn’t have done in Tyrag?
Commander Garret shrugged. “I follow orders,” he said. “I don’t need to understand them.” He paused for a sip of wine, and studied Hobart over the brim of his mug. “But in order to perform my duties, there are things I do need to understand. Perhaps you will be kind enough to help me with one of them. The man who calls himself Angus is not the man my men recognize. He is different in appearance, and he carries himself differently. However, he knows the people who knew Angus and has convinced the
wizards of his ability. I questioned him on this, and he told me a most interesting tale, one that I would like to hear again—from you.”
Hobart took another swallow of wine, effectively emptying the mug, and set it back down. Where should he begin? What could he say? He still didn’t understand most of what had happened, so how could he help Commander Garret understand it?
While he waited, Commander Garret stood up, walked over to the side table, and retrieved the jug of wine. As he brought it back, he said, “I would like to make sure the right man is being constrained, and I trust your judgment on this matter. You know him better than any of us, and you know what happened to him. So tell me about this little excursion of yours. You can skip the details for the moment—it is late, and I know you have been riding hard to get here—and can start at the point where you reached the lift at the edge of the Haunted Plateau. We can discuss the rest later, when neither of us is pressed for time.”
15
Still the mind, Angus thought as he sat fuming at the table in his cozy little room in the Wizards’ School. He should have reached the plateau by now, maybe even caught up with Embril. Still the body. But that fool Garret wouldn’t let him go, and now The Tiger’s Eye had been taken. Still the mind. “The king has a task for you,” he kept saying, as if anything the king might have wanted him to do was more important than preventing the theft of The Tiger’s Eye. Still the body. He pushed away the urge to scratch his new foot. The itchiness had started not long after he had talked with Grand Master Fredrick. Still the mind. At least his robe recognized that he had a foot again, and that was an improvement. Now, if it would only identify it as his own! Still the body.
He looked at the things on his table. Teffles book still had spells in it that he didn’t understand, and he should be studying them. Still the mind. What if one of them was the key to his survival—if he was allowed to do what he must do? Still the body. His own scrolls were incomplete. That cold-hearted bastard Voltari had kept some of them for himself. Still the mind. They were his creations, not Voltari’s! He had no right to them! Still the body. He had no right to steal my memory, either. Or to merge me with Typhus. Still the mind. But what of it? The past was done, and he needed to focus on the future. He needed to prepare for the hazards he would face. Still the body. If they let him do it. The volcanoes…. He shuddered at the thought of walking into one. Still the mind. If only they would let him get on with it!
Still the body.
At least his robe would help him deal with the heat. Still the mind. He glanced down at his itchy foot. If it worked properly. Still the body. And his spells were mostly flame-based ones that shouldn’t be hampered when he approached the ruptured nexus. They would be even more powerful. Still the mind. Strange that Voltari had taught him those, wasn’t it? Still the body. But what good was fire against a volcano? For that matter—
There was a light tapping on his door. Still the mind. He slowly turned his head toward it. Still the body. There was another series of light taps, as if the person outside didn’t want to disturb him but felt it was important to do so. Perhaps word has come from Commander Garret? he thought. Still the mind. He rose slowly from the chair and made his way to the door. Still the body. He opened it carefully, slowly, reluctantly. It was Ortis.
“Angus,” Ortis smiled as he said it.
Still the mind.
Angus stared for nearly two seconds before he calmly nodded and said, “Ortis.” It was another second before he stepped aside to let Ortis into his room.
Ortis looked him over and his eyebrows rose. “You still have the foot?”
Angus almost said yes, but that wasn’t quite true, was it? It wasn’t the same foot. “No,” he said, tilting his head to the left and half-smiling. “It is a new one.” He went to his bed, lifted his robe over his knees, and sat down. Then he removed his boot and sock to show his new foot to Ortis. “See?” he said. “It isn’t quite done growing. It should be back to normal in few days.”
Ortis stared at it and shook his head. “The scribe said that you were healed, but I would not have thought it possible to avoid losing the limb.” He lifted his eyes to Angus’s right shoulder and asked, “The arm?”
Angus moved his right arm in a complete circle to show him there was no reduction in his range of motion.
“This Iscara must be an exceptional healer,” Ortis said. “I am glad of it.”
Angus shook his head. “Not her,” he corrected. “Her mother.” He paused and added, “I trust you are well? All of you?”
Ortis nodded. “And Hobart,” he said. “But we lost some of the horses.”
“Gretchen?” Angus asked in a calm voice.
“No,” he said. “Millie, Sam, and some of the pack beasts. The path down the cliff was treacherous.”
“Where is Hobart?” Angus asked as he reached down to put his sock and boot back on. It was a new boot. When Ungred had learned of what had happened to his foot because his boot was too small, he had insisted on making him a new pair. The right one fit wonderfully, but this one was still a bit loose. He would grow into it soon, though.
“He is meeting with Commander Garret to find out what the king has in mind for the Banner,” Ortis said.
Angus scowled and felt his muscles tensing. Still the body. he thought, trying to push away the resurgent anger and frustration. He nodded. “I am not pleased with the king,” he said. “I should have left Hellsbreath days ago, but the king….” He shook his head. “No, it is not the king’s fault; it is Commander Garret’s. He will not let me leave until he receives orders from the king, and by the time they get here, it will probably be too late to save Hellsbreath. What can the king possibly want us to do that is more important than that?”
Ortis shrugged. “We will know soon enough,” he said. “Rather, you will. I have decided to leave the Banner.”
Still the mind, Angus thought as he studied Ortis. “I see,” he said.
Ortis nodded. “It is time I sought out my people,” he said. “With the fishmen gone from the Death Swamps, I may be able to find them.” He paused, and when he continued, his tone was gentle, “With Giorge dead, Hobart planned to disband the Banner when we arrived here. The king’s orders prevented him from doing so.” He shook his head. “Hobart was not happy about that, so I offered to remain a part of the Banner until this mission is over. But Hobart….” He shrugged. “Perhaps Commander Garret will tell him what the king wants of us. The message he left with the scribe sounded urgent.”
Angus stared at Ortis and then slowly rose to his feet. “Why don’t we find out?” he said as he walked to the door.
“No need,” Ortis said from where he sat. “I’ll know when he leaves the barracks. He’s been in there some time already.”
Angus paused at the door and asked, “Are you coming?”
Ortis shrugged and followed him out the door.
Angus quickly led Ortis through the tower complex, bringing the magic into focus as he went. A few of the strands of flame had minor anomalies, but there were no major disruptions yet. It was only a matter of time before there would be.
Instead of turning to the main exit, Angus led Ortis to the spire stair, and once inside, he paused and turned to him. “Do you trust me, Ortis?” he asked.
Ortis hesitated a moment, and then nodded.
“Good,” Angus said as he selected a few strands of air and wove together a modified, more complicated version of the Flying spell. He had not tried it before, but he was confident it would work. If not, at least they would not fall far. He wrapped the spell around Ortis as if he were tucking a net-like blanket around him, and then anchored it to himself. “Stay close to me.”
Ortis reached out for his arm, but Angus shook it off. “You won’t need to hang on to me,” he told him. “But if you drift too far away, it will make it difficult to for us to maneuver. Where I fly, you will also go.”
“I’ll fly?” Ortis asked, a hint of alarm in his tone.
Angus hal
f-smiled and twisted the strands to lift himself a few feet above the ground. Ortis rose with him, and threw his hands out as if he were trying to grab for something. “Don’t,” Angus said, reaching out to grab Ortis before he tumbled away from him. “Keep your arms close to your body and your legs relaxed. I will guide both of us.” He waited until Ortis had his arms rigidly crossed in front of him, and then asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Ortis said through clenched teeth.
Angus looked above them and played with the strands of air. They rose rapidly to the top of the spire, and slowed to a hover. Angus turned sideways, and Ortis pivoted in the air until he was hovering over the middle of the spire. His bloodless fingertips clenched his elbows, but he didn’t move. Angus walked sideways through the door, towing Ortis with him. Once they were both outside, he jumped off the ledge. Ortis involuntarily followed at his side, and Angus tweaked the strands to guide them as straight as he could to the barracks on the southwest corner of Hellsbreath’s wall.
When they landed, Ortis shuddered and his knees wobbled as he tried to stagger forward, away from the edge of the wall. He stumbled in place, but he didn’t fall down.
“Easy,” Angus said. “You need to stand still so I can release the spell.”
Ortis glared at him, and his legs stopped moving. “Don’t do that to me again,” Ortis said as Angus released the spell and stepped forward. “Carry me next time.” He turned abruptly away from Angus and walked quickly up to his other selves. They were standing just outside the barracks door, waiting for Hobart, but Angus walked past them and into the barracks. He paused before the men standing guard and said, “I believe Hobart is with Commander Garret,” he said. “They have need of me.”
One of the guards looked as if he were about to refuse, but the other nonchalantly waved him through. “Go on, then, Angus. It wouldn’t do to have the Commander waiting at this time of night.”
Angst (Book 4) Page 19