Angst (Book 4)

by Robert P. Hansen

  Taro met the young man’s gaze and found the eyes of a much older, much wiser, much more intelligent man behind it. He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “The first was when I was but a young man, but the rest—” he sighed and shook his head “—they began just over a month ago. I have been pursuing them ever since.”

  “What do you see in these visions?” the Grand Master asked.

  Taro turned away and didn’t answer. “Do you know where Angus went?” he demanded.

  The Grand Master thought for a long moment, and then nodded. “In general terms, yes.”

  “I must find him,” Taro urged. “This land is in grave danger, and its survival will depend upon him.” He frowned. “Or its destruction. I am not sure which.”

  “Perhaps it is both,” the Grand Master said.

  Taro shrugged. “I don’t know. I only see what I see. Its meaning escapes me.”

  “If you tell me of these visions,” the Grand Master said, “I may be able to assist you in their interpretation.”

  Taro nodded. It would be good to have someone ask him questions about his visions again. The ones Hobart had asked him had helped him to understand a little bit more about what the visions were trying to tell him, and maybe the Grand Master would guide him to even more insights. He started with the vision where Angus was surrounded by fire because that seemed to be the one he was supposed to start with, and a worried look gobbled up the young-looking Grand Master’s face.

  “That is a most troubling vision, Master Taro,” Grand Master Fredrick said. “Do you know where this land of fire is located?”

  Taro shrugged and said, “In the mountains.”

  “Mountains like the ones near here?” the Grand Master asked. “Granite behemoths that bulge up from the land like gigantic teeth?”

  Taro shrugged again. “Probably,” he said. “The vision doesn’t have the mountains in focus, but the burning land is ringed by them.”

  “Is there a river?” the Grand Master asked.

  Taro closed his eyes to focus on his memory of the vision, then shrugged again. “I don’t see one.”

  “Trees?”

  “Oh,” Taro said at once. “There used to be some, but they burned up.” Why hadn’t he noticed that before? The charred stalks of the trees were still there, and some of them were still burning. He had been so obsessed with the wizard and the fire that he hadn’t even thought about what was burning.

  “Is the land flat or tilted like the slope of a mountain?”

  “Flat,” Taro said at once. “Is that important?”

  “Yes,” the Grand Master replied. “In your vision, Angus is on a forested plateau. I believe I know which one it is. It is several days north and west of Hellsbreath. There is an old road through the mountains that will take you there. Angus spoke of it before he left.” He shifted his body and leaned out of the mule cart and looked to the west. “There may still be time to catch him,” he muttered. “There isn’t much smoke, yet.”

  Taro brightened. Was it possible? Could he actually get there before his vision came true? Would he be able to tell Angus what he needed to tell him in time for what he told him to matter? Then he glared at the mule and shook his head. The stupid beast was too slow. If it hadn’t been, he would have gotten to Hellsbreath before Angus had left the city. No, that wasn’t true, was it? If he hadn’t waited for Hobart, he would have gotten to Hellsbreath three days earlier, and Angus would have been here. But his vision had held him there, and the delay—

  “What other visions have you had of him?” the Grand Master asked.

  “Boring ones, mostly,” Taro offhandedly replied. He took a deep breath and leaned back. “There was one….”

  13

  As they approached the bend in the mountain, Angus became more and more anxious to get past it so he could see the plateau. Smoke was already rolling over the mountain they were on, and there was a soft hint of it in the air around them. The sun looked fuzzy as it touched the distant mountain peaks to the west. Something was burning, and the fire was a large one, but what? If it were a volcano, wouldn’t it have made a lot of noise? That was what his research had suggested, but this was like the quiet little outbursts from the volcanoes next to Hellsbreath. All they did was spew a little lava now and then. When they did that, their caldera filled up and it seeped over the top or through one of the holes in its side. It sizzled and bubbled down the slope until it hardened, but it rarely went very far. They were slow, steady flows, not the violent explosions he read about in the chronicles of the Dwarf Wars. The first blast was so fierce that it could be heard from as far away as Virag and the shores of The Western Kingdoms. The smoke he was seeing wasn’t coming from an eruption like that, and he needed to see for himself what was happening.

  Angus urged Gretchen toward the edge of the road where it dropped off the steep slope of the mountain. It wasn’t as sharp of a drop-off as the cliffs where the fletchings nested, but he would tumble and slide a long way if he slipped over the edge. The outcropping was only about a mile ahead of them, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. As he rode past Hobart and the others, he kneed Gretchen and snapped the reins until she was at a full gallop. He didn’t look back to see if the others followed him; they weren’t important. He needed to see the plateau.

  He eased up on the reins just before the road curved around the outcropping, and by the time he could see the edge of the plateau, Gretchen had slowed to a fast jog. He let her settle into a walk as the rest of the plateau came into view, and then pulled on the reins to stop her. She settled into a comfortable stance, and he shielded his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. What he saw confirmed what he had already known: the plateau was on fire. All of the plateau, and the fire was creeping up to the tree line on the mountain north of the plateau. It was probably climbing up the southern mountains, too, but he couldn’t see them yet. What troubled him, though, were the mountains on the far side of the plateau. He wasn’t sure—the sun was setting behind them, and the wildfire on the plateau was making it difficult to tell—but they seemed to have rivers of lava flowing out of them. It was as if the valley holding the Angst temple had filled up and was overflowing, like the inkwells of new apprentices who didn’t know how to manage the amount of ink they needed in their quills. The excess dribbled down the neck and dried in caked-on layers.

  He settled back in the saddle. He was too late. The Tiger’s Eye was gone. He had known it would be, but seeing the volcano purging itself had burned away his last shred of hope and left an empty hole in its wake. He shuddered and clenched his teeth. If—when—he found The Tiger’s Eye, he had to take it back to the heart of that volcano to seal the nexus. How could he do that?

  First things first, he thought. I have to find The Tiger’s Eye.

  He kneed Gretchen to a walk and continued around the last bit of the outcropping, the part that was blocking his view of the ledge they needed to cross to reach the plateau. Why am I going to the plateau? he wondered. It’s on fire. Then he shook his head. As long as I don’t touch the flames, I’ll be fine. My robe will protect me. He frowned. Yes, and when I become Lava Man, I can walk through lava unscathed. His frown deepened as Gretchen sauntered forward, and he squinted at the mountains at the other end of the plateau. I never would have found the Angst temple without that map Voltari gave me. It could have remained hidden for centuries—like it had been since the end of the Dwarf Wars. He turned away from the sun and blinked until its afterimage went away. Voltari planned this, he thought with calm certainty. He wanted me to find the nexus. He even told me as much, didn’t he? In his mind, Angus heard again the disdain in Voltari’s voice as he had said, “I know of only one other major nexus, and that is deep within the mountains; it fuels the magic of the dwarves and keeps their forges burning. But they are incompetent fools who barely know how to tap into its energy.” He scowled at the back of Gretchen’s head because there was nothing else to scowl at. Voltari knows about The Tiger’s Eye. He gave me the map with the
Angst symbol on it so I would find it. He had trained me in flame and earth magic so I would understand it. He taught me the spells I would need—

  Angus’s eyes widened. The scrolls Voltari kept! He challenged me to make them because he wanted to use them himself. Shield of Flame deflects away other flame, and if I had that spell, I could walk through the burning trees of the plateau without even getting singed. So can Voltari. And Lava Flow! What better spell to have when walking into a volcano than one that can bend its lava to one’s own will?

  Everything he did, Angus realized, has prepared me for this situation. Voltari wanted me to take The Tiger’s Eye for him, didn’t he? His face became quite still as he answered himself. Yes. But why? What does Voltari want with the nexus? The Tiger’s Eye? His eyebrows scrunched together as a final thought occurred to him. Why didn’t Voltari take it himself?

  “Angus?” Hobart said as he came up beside him.

  Angus mechanically turned toward him but said nothing. He didn’t even really see him. His mind was running through possible answers to his questions, and at each turn it became more and more evident that Voltari had been manipulating him from the first day he had arrived at Blackhaven Tower. He wasn’t surprised by this sudden realization; he wasn’t even troubled by it. Voltari was a selfish bastard who always did what he wanted, and it made perfect sense that he would only take on an apprentice to serve his needs. What bothered him, what left a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach, what nauseated him to the point where he tasted bile in the back of his throat and had to fight back the urge to vomit, was the simple fact that he hadn’t realized it sooner. He knew Voltari. He understood Voltari. And yet, he had failed to realize Voltari’s agenda. He should have known it from the start, when Voltari had given him the map. But Voltari had seen to that, too, hadn’t he? He had buried Angus deep within himself and left behind a naïve, pliable amnesiac. He—

  “Angus!” Hobart snapped. “What’s with you? You know better than to ride off on your own like that.”

  Angus shrugged. Hobart didn’t matter. He couldn’t understand what was happening the way Angus did. Voltari wanted The Tiger’s Eye to be taken, and he would think that Angus had done it. He would be coming for him—for The Tiger’s Eye—and there was nothing Angus could do to stop him. The power Voltari held….

  Angus shook his head and tried to set aside his speculations—his insights—so he could respond to Hobart. What had he asked? “I needed to see the plateau,” he said, his voice distant as he looked past Hobart and at the flames. “I needed to be sure.” He was sure, now, but did it matter? Voltari…

  “And?”

  “It is as I feared,” Angus said, his voice sounding to him like it was coming from far away. “The Tiger’s Eye has been taken.” They were far enough past the outcropping that he could see the ledge. There were riders on it. They were about a third of the way across, and the tiny splotches of color told him who it was. “The patrol,” he muttered. “They might have it. If they do….” It would about two take days to meet up with them on horseback, but if he flew across the valley…

  “Is Embril with them?” Hobart asked as he shielded his eyes and stared. “I don’t see the sky blue of her robe.” He turned to Ortis and asked, “Do you?”

  Angus brought the magic into focus and was astonished to see a bubbling trail of flame magic following the patrol. The nexus moves with The Tiger’s Eye, Master Renard had said. That meant it was with the patrol—but who had taken it? Embril? He frowned. If it was Embril, then it wouldn’t be her fault, would it? Voltari had set this tragedy into motion, and she was just an unwitting pawn in his plans. It was Voltari’s fault. He had manipulated Angus into finding The Tiger’s Eye and that had led Angus to tell Embril about it. But she wasn’t with the patrol, was she? No hint of blue, no hint of her long, wavy, red hair. He absentmindedly reached for a strand of sky magic with his left hand and began tying the knots for the flying spell.

  “I do not,” Ortis said after a few moments of concentration. “But it is too far to see any details. She may not be wearing her robe.”

  Angus didn’t think about what his left hand was doing; his thoughts were on Embril and how The Tiger’s Eye was consuming her, how it may have already consumed her. Perhaps she was unable to ride? Perhaps that was why they weren’t seeing her? Perhaps there was still time to save her. He frowned. She was in danger because he had put her in danger. He had put her in danger because he had wanted to protect the nexus and The Tiger’s Eye. He had to help her if he could. He had to fix what Voltari had made him do. He couldn’t do that here. He needed to reach the patrol. Angus let go of the reins and tweaked the strand of sky magic to lift himself from the saddle. Once he was clear of it, he adjusted his orientation until he was like a spear’s tip diving into the wind and then he aimed himself over the valley.

  “Angus!” Hobart called, reaching out for him and grabbing the air that he had just left behind. “Wait!” Hobart shouted—but it was too late. “Taro’s visions—”

  Whatever else Hobart said was lost in the rush of the wind around him as Angus gathered speed. It didn’t matter, anyway. The only thing that mattered was saving Embril, and he needed to know where she was to be able to do that. Who was Taro, anyway? He had never heard of him. Before he had gone a hundred feet, he had completely dismissed them from his mind. Thoughts of Voltari lingered….

  14

  “We must be careful,” Sludge Hammerhead said as he held up his hand and slowed to a walk. “The road was made during the Dwarf Wars. There are many false steps.”

  Embril gratefully slowed down. The Swiftness spell had ended, and she had been breathing heavily from the brisk jog. Walking would give her a chance to catch her breath. She would have cast the spell again, but Sludge had told her they were not far from the exit. She had decided to wait until she knew what spells she might need to reach Giorge. Besides, she had been lucky the spell hadn’t gone wrong yet; her memory wasn’t perfect, and there were a few complicated knots in the spell that she wasn’t sure about. So far it had worked, but there was no need to risk it again until she knew if she would need it.

  “My grandfather helped build this road,” Sludge said. “He taught me where to step. See? We must walk along the wall. The rock is weak in the middle. We would fall through.” He pointed at the center of the tunnel floor, which looked no different than anywhere else on the floor, and moved to the edge. He hugged the wall as if the tunnel were only a foot wide instead of wide enough for two dozen men to stand abreast, and then moved back to the center of the tunnel.

  “Don’t touch that wall,” he said, pointing ahead of them. “The stone is loose and will cave in upon us.” Again, it looked no different from the wall around it, and she wondered if Sludge was lying about it so that she wouldn’t come back through it on her own. Then they rounded a sharp corner and he said, “Hindered,” and pointed at a rubble pile stretching from the left wall and spanning nearly the full width of the road. “We must be careful here. The wall on the other side is loose.” He slowed as they went through the narrow opening, and then quickly moved back to the center of the tunnel. After a few more warnings of this sort, the walls of the tunnel grew moist and he said, “We are near the end, now. Step carefully. The road will be slippery.”

  He was right. Her boots skidded on the moist, smooth stone, and she struggled to keep her footing. Sludge plodded along as if his feet had melted into the stone with each step he took.

  They rounded a turn in the tunnel, and the dull humming Embril thought she was imagining suddenly grew to a muffled crashing roar. She had heard something like that before, when she had bathed in the waterfall to wash the mud out of her hair. Her eyes widened—could they be near that waterfall? Was that Hammerhead’s secret entrance?

  “The water runs heavy,” Sludge half-shouted. “There will be much of it.”

  Embril nodded, wondering how soon it would be before the road slanted upward. As far as she could tell, it had been n
early level the whole way, and the few times she noticed a tilt, it was always downward. Were they under the plateau? But that didn’t make any sense, did it? The dwarves had fled the plateau because the mountain was bleeding, but there had been no sign of lava in this tunnel. Even the flame magic seemed almost normal. Then the tunnel suddenly dropped down at a sharp, slick angle for several dozen paces before opening out into a large cavern.

  “Follow me,” Sludge shouted over the crashing roar of the waterfall. He walked around the edge of the tunnel until he reached a series of large stone doors reinforced with huge horizontal iron beams. “Do not touch them,” he shouted up at her. “They hold back the water. If your kind had found this road and made it this far during the war, they would have been drowned here.”

  Embril nodded and followed him across the cavern and into a smaller, quieter cavern. He crossed it and entered a small spiraling stairwell that went up for some time before they rose into another large cavern. This time, there was only one huge door in the middle of the wall to their right. He walked up to it and stopped.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  Sludge looked at her and shook his head. “You must not see the way to open it,” he said. “It is secret.”

  Embril looked at the huge door, shrugged, and turned around. “Will this do?” she asked.

  In answer, she heard Sludge moving about, metal jingling together like keys, and then the grinding squawk of a rusty gear being forced to move for the first time in centuries. A few seconds later, a chill, wet wind fluttered her robes and the harsh roaring of the waterfall nearly deafened her. Then she felt a strong hand with stubby, wide fingers on her wrist. She turned toward it.

  The door was ajar, but there was enough room for her to walk through it, and Sludge pointed at it. “Go!” he shouted, but she couldn’t hear him. The meaning was clear from the way his mouth moved, the fierceness with which he glared at her, and the firmness of the little shove he gave her. She stepped forward and squeezed into the narrow opening. The doors were thick slabs of stone, and it took a few steps to reach the other end. They started to close before she was even halfway through, and she had to turn sideways to avoid being crushed by them.