Angst (Book 4) (25 page)

King Tyr turned to Captain Blanchard, as much to avoid the
sudden sadness in her eyes as to address his most trusted soldier. “Captain,”
he said. “You must prepare for the worst. I don’t think Symptata has an
interest in destroying our kingdom, since he could have killed me already, but
it would be wise to expect it. Argyle—” he glanced at Grayle as he finished
“—has agents everywhere, and he knows far more about the kingdom than he
should.”

“Sire,” Captain Blanchard asked. “What is this Argyle? The
rumors I have heard are vague, but none of them suggest he is a man.”

King Tyr turned his attention to his hand. Most of the
wounds were closed, and the pain was gone, but a tickling sensation was
beginning in his fingertips. He didn’t want to do what he was about to do, but
what choice did he have? Yes, Argyle was confined in the dungeon for now—it had
been built specifically to keep him from escaping—but for how long? What if
Symptata found a way to set him free? He was a wizard from before The Taming,
wasn’t he? There was no telling how powerful he could be or what he could do.
He had made the Gems of Transformation, hadn’t he? Escaping from the dungeons
would be simple for someone capable of doing that. He sighed and looked fondly
at Grayle.

“I am sorry, Grayle, but I cannot allow Argyle to roam
free,” he told her in his softest, kindest tone. “You know better than anyone
what he is capable of, and if Symptata is in control…” He shook his head. “No,”
he said with certainty. “I cannot allow it.”

“Uncle!” she cried, her eyes wide and her knuckles white
around the Golden Key. “You can’t!”

King Tyr shook his head and said, “No, but you can.”

“Me!” She cried, her arms dropping limply to her sides and
the box falling to the carpet with a muffled thud.

“Yes,” King Tyr said. He was utterly calm, as he always was
when he made a difficult decision. If he had the facts he needed to make it, he
was confident that he would come to the proper decision. He didn’t have all the
facts he
wanted
, but the ones he had led him to conclude there was only
one course of action for him to take: he had to eliminate the potential threat
that Argyle posed, and he had to do so quickly.

He looked into her angry glare. “Tell me, Grayle,” he asked.
“If Argyle were making the decision, and if it was one of his most valued
assets threatening his domain, what do you think he would do?”

She didn’t answer and her glare didn’t waver, but he knew
what the part of her that was as cold and calculating as Argyle would do. So
did she. “I want you to disguise yourself, Grayle,” he said, letting his
sadness come through in his tone. “You will tell Captain Blanchard about Argyle
and his weaknesses. You will show him where
all
of Argyle’s secret
entrances are so that he can post men near enough to them to watch for
trouble.”

King Tyr paused and turned to Captain Blanchard. “They must
be inconspicuous,” he said, then turned back to Grayle.

“Let me talk to him,” Grayle said. “I know Argyle—”

King Tyr shook his head. “No, Grayle,” he said. “It is not
Argyle that concerns me. It is Symptata.” He paused and looked sharply at her.
“You don’t know Symptata, do you?”

She shook her head and said nothing.

Iscara gently turned King Tyr’s hand over and then released
it. He lifted it up to inspect it and found no hint of injury or scar. He
flexed it, and it felt as it always had. He turned to her and said, “Thank you,
Iscara.” Then he paused. “I have another task for you to do, one that is
well-suited to your abilities.”

“Yes, Sire,” Iscara said, keeping her eyes fixed on the tabletop.

“Go to Argyle’s lair,” he said. “Speak to him. Use your
healer’s senses to discover what you can about him and then return here to tell
me what you have found.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Do so now, please.”

“At once, Sire,” she said, nearly knocking over the chair
she had been standing beside in her haste to comply. Once she was out of the
room, King Tyr turned back to Grayle and smiled.

“I would prefer very much to avoid destroying him, Grayle,”
he admitted, “but I will not hesitate to do so. However, it may not become
necessary. I sent Rascal to tell Argyle—and Symptata—that I wish to speak with
him. It is my hope that we can make an arrangement that will be mutually
beneficial. If not,” he shrugged. “Captain Blanchard’s men need to be prepared
to deal with him.”

“You should let me talk to him,” Grayle protested. “He knows
me.”

“No, my dear,” he said. “If Symptata were to do something to
you….” King Tyr shook his head. “Rascal would be a terrible loss, but he can be
replaced. You cannot be.”

He turned back to Captain Blanchard and said, “Iscara will
almost certainly tell Argyle of our plans. I suggest you get your men into
position quickly, and tell them to keep alert. But they are not to enter
Argyle’s domain until I give the order for them to do so. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sire,” Captain Blanchard said. “We will go at once!”
He paused long enough for the king to hold him back, and then pivoted and
marched toward the door, where he paused and turned back. “Milady?” he asked.

Before Grayle could turn, King Tyr said, “Gather a dozen of
your best, most trusted men and return to her chambers,” he said. “She will
join you there shortly. There is a hidden stairwell in it that leads to
Argyle’s dungeon. Post two of your men there; the rest are to remain in the
hallway. If it becomes necessary to invade his lair, we will do so from there.”

“Oh no!” Grayle said. “I forgot to shut the door!”

“Quickly, now!” King Tyr added. “Phillip and the healer are
unguarded.”

“Sire,” Captain Blanchard said as he nodded crisply and
closed the door.

King Tyr sighed and gestured at the open tome on his table.
He lifted the bloodied towel by a reasonably clean corner and shook his head.
There were droplets of blood drying on the open pages, but there was nothing he
could do about it at the moment. “Read that, Grayle.” he said. “Perhaps you can
tell me something that will help us to deal with the situation. I will see
about a disguise for you.” He stood up and went into his closet.
Perhaps
Grand Master Thom will be able to shed some light onto the problem when he
arrives
.

3

It was still twilight as Angus and Master Renard hurriedly
approached the lift area, but there was no sign of Hobart or Ortis waiting for
them. Angus walked up to the scribe and asked, “Have you seen Hobart or Ortis
this morning? We are leaving on a vitally important mission for the king, and
they were supposed to meet me here.”

He recognized the scribe, but he didn’t know his name. It
was the old man with long gray hair stained with ink that he had met when he had
first arrived at Hellsbreath. “Haven’t seen them, Angus,” he said as he thumbed
through his records until he found the page for The Banner of the Wounded Hand.
He skimmed it and frowned. “Based on our records, you’re the only member of
your Banner in Hellsbreath, and you are forbidden to leave.”

“Hobart and Ortis arrived last night from the south,” Angus
said as he reached into the pouch in his sleeve. He brought out the king’s
orders and handed them over to the scribe.

The scribe studied the seal—it was Commander Garret’s—and
then read the orders. He frowned, looked at Angus, but said nothing.

“It’s a sensitive mission,” Angus said. “When Hobart and
Ortis arrive, we will need to leave at once.”

The scribe turned to Master Renard and asked, “You are with
him?”

Master Renard nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I will be joining the
Banner for this mission, but I am not a part of the Banner, itself.”

The scribe turned back to Angus and said, “I will need to
validate the orders.” He smiled and added, “You have been rather persistent in
your efforts to leave, and—”

The Lieutenant standing nearby came up beside the scribe,
yawned, and held out his hand. “May I see the orders?”

The scribe handed the slip of paper to him, and after a few
seconds of close inspection, he nodded. “They are genuine,” he said. He turned
to the signal man and said, “Bring up the lift.”

“We should check with the barracks—” the scribe began, but
the Lieutenant was already handing the slip of paper back to Angus.

“That isn’t necessary,” the Lieutenant told the scribe.
“Make the appropriate notations in the records. When Hobart and Ortis arrive,
they are to be allowed on the lift without delay, and it is to be lowered at
once.”

The scribe scowled at him without picking up his quill. “The
records indicate Angus is forbidden to leave the city,” he asserted. “The rest
of the Banner can go, but not him.”

The Lieutenant frowned and leaned over to read the entry.
Then he pointed at it and said, “Pending the king’s order.” He gestured to the
slip of paper still in Angus’s hand and said, “
That
is the king’s
order.”

Without waiting for the scribe to continue the argument, the
Lieutenant gestured Angus and Master Renard into the lift area and asked, “Do
you need horses? Supplies?”

“Hobart is bringing our horses,” Angus said. “I’m not sure
about the supplies.”

The Lieutenant nodded and hurried over to the signalman.
After a brief conversation, the torches began to whirl again and the Lieutenant
returned. “Is there anything else that I can do?” he asked.

Angus shook his head. “No, Lieutenant,” he said. “You have
done enough.”

The Lieutenant nodded and turned away.

“He knows something,” Master Renard muttered. “What do you
suppose it is?”

Angus walked over to the wall, well away from the other
passengers waiting for the lift, away from the scribe, away from the guards,
and frowned. “Only what Commander Garret told him,” he said, “and that isn’t
much.”
Where are they?
Angus thought as he scanned The Rim for his
friends. There weren’t many about yet, but he still couldn’t see them. Hadn’t
they stayed at Hedreth’s? It wouldn’t take long for them to reach the lift from
there.

“They’re late,” Angus muttered. “I told them to meet us at
dawn.”

Master Renard looked up at the sky and then down at the
valley beneath Hellsbreath’s wall. “Dawn is still some minutes away,” he said.
“The delay will give us time to talk.”

“We can talk as we ride,” Angus snapped. “We’ve been delayed
too long already. I should have prevented this, but that fool of a king kept me
from doing it.”

“I would not speak so of the king,” Master Renard said. “He
is a wise and just ruler.”

“Even wise and just men act foolishly on occasion,” Angus
retorted.

“True,” Master Renard agreed. “It is of no matter, now. Let
us speak of the future, instead of the past. The task we have before us is a
dire one, and we need to prepare ourselves for it.”

“We should wait for Hobart and Ortis,” Angus replied. “They
will need to know what we are doing.”

Master Renard shook his head. “No,” he quietly said. “They
don’t. In fact, no one else should know what it is we are about to do.”

Angus frowned and shook his head. “Secrecy is what led us to
this point,” he said. “If others had known about the nexus, it would have been
protected, and we would not be facing the prospects of volcanic destruction.”

“You are wrong,” Master Renard said. “It would have been
abused.”

Angus glared at him. “Like the Wizards’ Schools’ nexuses are
abused?” he countered.

Master Renard sighed and shook his head. “This nexus is
different,” he said.

Angus ignored him and scanned The Rim for his friends, but
they still weren’t there.
If there had been a Wizards’ School above The
Tiger’s Eye instead of the Angst temple ruins, it would not have been taken.

“All right,” Master Renard said. “What I told you and the
Grand Master about the Angst priests taking The Tiger’s Eye to a new location
was as true as the Angst text can be thought to be true. The nexus went with
it, and volcanoes erupted as they went. That is confirmed by our own historical
accounts. I need to tell you the rest of it before your friends arrive.”

“Fine,” Angus said, only half-listening to him.
Where are
they? The lift is almost here.

“You need to know how they secured the nexus,” Master Renard
continued.

“They used The Tiger’s Eye,” Angus interrupted.

Master Renard nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “but not as you are
thinking they did. It was not a mere cork that fractured the magic and diffused
it, like the nexus stones we use; it was mostly a reflective lens that sent the
magic back to where it came from. What it allowed to be released was a mere
fraction of the energy from the nexus.”

Angus frowned and looked at him. “What do you mean by that?”

Master Renard shrugged. “That part of the text is ambiguous.
The verb the Angst priest used has multiple meanings. In the context of the
passage, I think he meant it as ‘reflect,’ but it could also be interpreted as
‘mirrored’ or ‘thought upon.’ I could be wrong.”

“All right,” Angus said, turning back to The Rim. “We need
to return The Tiger’s Eye to its rightful place. What of it?”

“When you were close to the nexus,” Master Renard asked,
“what happened to you?”

Angus shuddered at the memory of the fear that had run
through him, the temptation from having all that power offered up to him. “I
ran,” he said. “I was sorely tempted to join them, but I couldn’t. My fear was
too strong.”

Master Renard smiled excitedly. “I thought so!” His voice
rose almost to a shout as he eagerly continued, “You were tempted
to
join
them.
”

Angus glared at him and growled, “You are drawing attention
to us.”

Master Renard’s smile didn’t waver, but his tone softened to
barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure I had interpreted the text
correctly, but you
heard them
, didn’t you? In your mind?”

Angus nodded. There had been a chorus of voices asking him
to join them, and he
almost
had. But something had held him back, and he
had never understood what it was. Ortis? He had bumped into him, pulled him
from the ledge. Was that all it was? Luck? If Ortis hadn’t been there, he would
have plunged into the nexus, and The Tiger’s Eye would still be where it was
supposed to be. Or would it? They would have followed after him, and Giorge
would have taken The Tiger’s Eye, and what was happening now would have
happened then.

“Who do you suppose they are?” Master Renard asked. “The
voices?”

Angus frowned. He hadn’t thought much about that, had he? He
had heard voices inviting him to join them in the nexus—no,
in The Tiger’s
Eye
—and had tried to put the temptation out of his mind. “I suppose they
were the Angst priests,” he said.

Master Renard nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Why were they
there?”

Angus shrugged. “They succumbed to the temptation of The
Tiger’s Eye or of the nexus,” he offered. “It captured them and holds them
captive.”

“No,” Master Renard said. “They were not tempted the way you
were. For them, there was only one voice, and that was the voice of their god.”

Angus frowned and turned to him. “I heard a chorus of
voices, not one.”

Master Renard nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “The migration was a
costly one for the Angst. As they went, the priest carrying The Tiger’s Eye was
slowly absorbed into it. The voices you heard were theirs.”

Angus’s frown deepened as he stared at Master Renard’s
placid blue eyes. If Embril had taken The Tiger’s Eye with her…. “How long?”

“For what?” Master Renard asked.

“How long did it take for them to be absorbed?”

Master Renard shrugged. “It couldn’t have been very long,”
he said. “The migration took only a month or two, and The Tiger’s Eye was
installed in the new temple within hours of their arrival. The temple, you see,
had already been constructed for them before they began their migration.”

“How many were absorbed?” Angus asked. If he knew that, he
could estimate how much time Embril had before she was absorbed, how much time
he had to save her.

“The priest who wrote about the migration named eleven
venerable sacrifices,” he replied. “I think they were the ones who were lost
along the way, but I’m not sure. That passage in the text was ambiguous and
does not translate well.”

Three or four days!
Angus thought with alarm.
The
nexus was freed two days ago! Embril—

“The priest who wrote it was a terrible writer and had poor
penmanship,” Master Renard complained. “Half his sentences were ill-formed
thoughts, and the other half were barely decipherable. It was almost as if he
was trying to obscure what…”

Angus quit listening to Master Renard and turned back to The
Rim. Hobart and Ortis were walking their horses toward the lift, but they
weren’t alone: Dagremon was with them.

“We need to go,” Angus said, frantically waving for Hobart
to join them as he turned to the lift.
Five days at most….

The passengers who had come up with the lift had already
debarked, and most of the ones waiting for the lift had already boarded. He
hurried up to the end of the line making their way into the lift, turned, and
waved again.
Why don’t they hurry?
he wondered as they sauntered
forward, ignoring his summons.

Embril
….