Angst (Book 4) (33 page)

“I told you,” Giorge said, “Darby took it north into the
mountains. Embril is chasing after him.”

“You lie,” Angus said. He tied the last knot of the
Firecluster spell and threw it against the mountainside well above them to let
the explosions punctuate his statement. They were far more violent than they
should be, and that confirmed his suspicions. “The Tiger’s Eye is here,” he
said.

The horses whinnied and backed away, and while Giorge fought
to steady his own mount, Angus quickly tied together a second Firecluster
spell, pinching off the last knot to keep it from squirming out of his grip
before he wanted to release it. “Tell me the truth,” he hissed, “or I will end
you here and now.” He sneered and added, “
Whoever you are!
” The
superimposed green Giorge turned sharply toward him a full second before the
Giorge beneath it did the same.
Yes,
Angus thought.
There are two.

“What are you doing?!” Giorge demanded. “I told you the
truth!”

“You lied,” Angus said with soft certainty. “The Tiger’s Eye
is here. I can see its influence.”

“Giorgie,” the woman behind him began, but Giorge cut her
off.

“Mother!” He turned in his saddle and hissed. “Don’t…”

His mother?
Angus thought in surprise.
He said she
died years ago. Another lie!
He almost released the Firecluster at Giorge
and the apparition smothering him. But something held him back. He didn’t know what
it was, but it was important.

Giorge’s mother—if that was who she was—slid from the saddle
and landed neatly on the ground beside Giorge’s horse. She stepped quickly to
the side and approached Angus. “He didn’t do it, Angus. It wasn’t his fault.”

“What did he do?” Angus gravely asked without taking his
eyes from Giorge.

“Mother!” Giorge growled—only, it wasn’t Giorge; it was the
apparition attached to him.

Giorge’s mother looked worriedly at him and said, again, “It
wasn’t
him.” Then she looked pleadingly at Angus and said, “It was the
curse. It made him take The Tiger’s Eye.”

Giorge’s mother deftly sidestepped Giorge’s horse as it
lunged for her, and then she scurried back to the others, who had already
backed away some distance to regroup.

Why aren’t they attacking?
Angus wondered as he
finished the Firecluster spell and hurled it at Giorge—

And the thing surrounding Giorge coalesced into a thick
green shield that deflected the Firecluster away from him—but the shield did
nothing to prevent the horse from rearing in alarm and dumping Giorge to the
ground. The horse scooted past Angus and broke into a wild run. Once it was by
him, Angus put it out of his mind and turned his full attention to Giorge, to
the thing enveloping Giorge. It had used magic, and that meant it was a wizard
or a witch.

Giorge crouched. “Don’t!” he cried, thrusting his arms out
in front of him. “It’s The Tween Effect!”

The thing wrapped around Giorge stood up, and his hollow
green eyes stared angrily back at Angus.

“Who are you?” Angus asked, drawing the magic closer around
him. “What have you done with The Tiger’s Eye?”

The apparition crouched down and lifted Giorge neatly to his
feet to face Angus. Giorge smiled, a sinister, knowing smile, and began to
laugh. It started out as a soft chuckle and quickly grew to a full-fledged roar
of deep-seated belly laughter. As the laughter escalated, Angus drew more flame
magic toward him and began the Lava Geyser spell. It couldn’t be deflected away
like Firecluster, so the apparition’s shield should be almost useless against
it. But that didn’t mean the apparition didn’t have the ability to avoid it if
he noticed the spell forming. A few good leaps would take him out of range of its
effects….

“I,” Giorge finally said with a slight bow, “am Symptata.”
An evil grin spread across Giorge’s face as he—
Symptata
—added, “And The
Tiger’s Eye is in a place you will never be able to find.”

17

Still the mind,
Embril thought with desperation.
Still
the body.
It had to be Angus, but Giorge said he was dead.
Still the
mind.
Who else could it be?
Still the body.
Tears dribbled off her
cheek as she watched the man in black fly like an arrow shot with utmost
precision and ease—just the way Angus had done when he had finally mastered the
spell.
Still the mind.
She had to warn him.
Still the body.

She took a deep breath and shook herself, but it did little
good.
Still the mind.
She dropped forward and splashed cold water from
the pool on her face.
Still the body.
Her hands were shaking as she
brought them up to her face again.
Still the mind.
Giorge had betrayed
her; what would he do to Angus?
Still the body.

Angus didn’t know what Giorge had done.
Still the mind.
She had to warn him about the betrayal!
Still the body.
Giorge had The
Tiger’s Eye.
Still the mind.
She had to tell Angus before it was too
late!
Still the body.
But it was too late. The Tiger’s Eye had been
removed, and the volcanoes were about to erupt.
Still the mind.
She
looked up at the blurry, smoke-filled late afternoon sky. They were already erupting.
Still the mind.
She brushed the sleeve of her damp robe over her eyes
and blinked several times.
Still the body.
Her heartbeat steadied.
Still
the mind.
Her fingers were steady.
Still the body.
Her mind was
clear.
Still the mind.
She brought the magic into focus and clinically
noted the changes in the flame magic.
Still the body.
She reached for a
strand of air and methodically, mechanically went through the motions of tying
the knot for the Flying spell.
Still the mind.
Her breath caught in her
chest as she saw Angus nearing the ledge.
Still the body.
Her hand
quivered as she lifted herself off the soggy ground and—

She hesitated, hovering a few feet above the ground. Angus
wasn’t alone.
Still the mind.
Someone was following him, and she
couldn’t believe what it was.
Still the body.
A robed figure was riding—

She gasped.
Still the mind.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Still the body.
But it was! The wizard was riding a horse through the
air over the valley, and it was running as if it had wings on its feet!
Still
the body.
No, it
had
wings on its feet! And the wizard held a staff
in front of her that captured and held the setting sun’s light as if it were an
orange ball of flame.
Still the mind.
Who could it be? Was she chasing
him?
Still the body.
She turned her attention to the edge of the
mountain where she had come from. There were other riders—strange white
ones—but they weren’t flying.
Still the mind.
The witch had been with
them, hadn’t she? And so had Angus.
Still the body.
If they hadn’t been
with the men riding after them on the mountain, why were those men pursuing
them?
Still the mind.
She turned away from them and looked at Angus. He
was almost to the ledge, and he needed her.
Still the body.
She flew
toward him, staying low in the shadows near the ground, well below the smoke,
and watched him land.
Still the mind.
The other witch wasn’t paying her
any attention; she was focused on Angus.
Still the body.
He alit with
the same delicate butterfly-soft maneuver that she had seen him do so many
times during the winter, so many times before he had gone off and gotten
himself killed—
almost
killed.
Still the mind.

Several minutes passed as she flew after them, and then a
cluster of flaming orbs struck the mountain above the patrol and illuminated
the ledge like a lingering lightning bolt.
What was that?
she wondered
as the balls of flame flickered and died out.
Is Angus attacking someone? Or
is he being attacked?
She glanced at the other witch but there was no
change in her pursuit.
It can’t be Giorge….

She flew faster and adjusted the arc of her flight so that
she would come up from below the ledge and land near where she had seen Angus
land. But she was still moving too slowly! The other witch was going to reach him
first! If she was his enemy…

Embril gasped as a second cluster of flaming orbs scattered
off the ledge and burst. She had seen that happen when an apprentice’s wayward
spell had to be deflected by one of the Masters. But that meant there
was
another wizard up there with Angus! Had the patrol had
two
wizards with
them? Or was it Giorge? Neither thought made any sense, but what else could it
be? Giorge’s mother? No. Giorge was the one who took The Tiger’s Eye, and that
meant he could use it, didn’t it?

She glanced up at the other witch. She was approaching the
ledge and showed no sign of deviating from her path toward Angus. Her staff
pulsed with a vibrant orange light, as if she was about to send forth a spell,
but would it be directed at Angus? Or his foe?

It didn’t matter. She could do nothing to prevent the witch
from acting, nothing to help Angus fight against the other wizard. She was
still too far away. Or was she?

She frowned. There was one spell she could use even at this
distance. It would be difficult, but if she could see Giorge, she could reach
out like she had with Lieutenant Jarhad and lift him off of the ledge. But if
Giorge had hurt Angus, she wouldn’t just suspend him over the valley; she would
drop him into it!

A soft, consistent orange glow emanated from the ledge like
a Lamplight spell on a slow, persistent simmer. She looked at the staff the
witch was holding—it shone almost as bright as the sun!—and the stoic control
she had carefully nurtured began to slip away.
She’s attacking him!
she
thought in horror, shifting her trajectory once more. She may not be able to
see Giorge, but she
could
see the witch. If she plucked her from her
saddle, would
her
feet grow wings?

She reached for the strands of magic she needed and hastily
wove together the spell and sent it at the witch. She wasn’t sure if it would
work at this range, but what else could she do? Several seconds went by without
anything happening, and then the witch was flung sideways off her saddle. But
she didn’t fall. She dangled from the reins of her horse with one hand and
clung to her staff with the other.

Embril reached for another strand….

18

“Angus!” Hobart tried to grab him before he flew off, but
Angus was too fast. “Wait!” he shouted. “Taro’s visions—I have to tell you
about them!” But Angus kept going. Hobart smashed his gauntleted fist against
the plate protecting his thigh. “The gods take you then!” he shouted after
Angus.
And the gods take me for not telling him about them.
He turned
toward the plateau and shook his head. It was burning the way Taro had said it
would be, and if that vision was true, the others might be as well. Why hadn’t
he told Angus about them when he had had the chance?

Because he didn’t trust Angus. He didn’t trust
this
Angus. This Angus acted like everything revolved around him, and he was the
only one who knew what to do. But he didn’t, did he? The fool had gone off into
that smoke without preparing for it. Hobart rode back to the others and said,
“He’s done it again.”

Ortis nodded. “He’ll reach the patrol more quickly this
way.”

Hobart scrunched up his lips, shook his head, and
dismounted. As he walked over to the pack horse, he snorted derisively and
grumbled, “He’ll probably kill them all if he acts anything like Giorge did
when he threw those mushrooms into the fire. He didn’t take one of Jagra’s
sheet, and that smoke up there has to be full of those mushrooms. Can’t you
feel it? The Tween Effect? What will it be like when we get further into the
smoke?” He unstrapped the sheets he had purchased from Jagra and began to
distribute them. He even offered one to Dagremon, but she smiled and rode
forward as if the smoke didn’t matter to her.

Ortis dismounted and moved over to the other side of the
pack horse and unlaced the knots holding the waterskins in place. He followed
after Hobart and handed a full waterskin to each rider after Hobart had handed
them a sheet. As they dampened the cloth and draped it over their horses’
heads, Hobart turned around and started cursing. They were simple curses, since
simple curses were the most effective, and he knew a lot of them. By the time
he finished, the others were staring at what he was staring at: Dagremon’s
horse had grown wings on its feet and was running on the air as if it were as
solid as the road they were on. She would never catch up with Angus, though; he
was already halfway across the valley. Still…

“Wizards,” Hobart grumbled.

Master Renard shook his head and said, “If I knew those
spells, I would be with them. They will reach the patrol long before we will on
these horses.”

Hobart knew this was true, but that didn’t make it right.
They should have stayed together, but Angus had gone off on his own and
Dagremon had followed after him. It would take at least two days to catch up
with them on horseback, and a lot of bad things could happen in two days.
Especially to Angus. He had been on edge even without The Tween Effect; what
would he be like with it?

“Look,” Ortis said, pointing down into the valley below
them. “Could that be Embril? She wore a blue robe, didn’t she?”

Hobart looked at where he was pointing and frowned. There
was a blue blur streaking across the valley floor, just above the trees.
Another
wizard,
he thought in disgust.
What’s she going to do?

“Yes,” Master Renard said as he got the faraway look in his
eyes that wizards got when they cast their spells. “It is her.”

That was good, wasn’t it? Didn’t Angus say he was looking
for Embril? She was the one who had taken The Tiger’s Eye, wasn’t she? All
Angus needed to do now was to look down at her. But he wasn’t about to do that,
was he? He was flying straight for the patrol—and they had noticed him. “We
will have to ride hard,” he said. “We won’t be able to rendezvous with the
patrol for a day or two, but if we can get to that tunnel Angus made in the
rock, we’ll have some protection from the smoke.”

“It will be good shelter for the night,” Ortis agreed as he
climbed back into his saddle. “It will be dark when we get there.”

They rode for some time, and then Master Renard shouted,
“The patrol has selected a spokesman.”

Hobart lowered his sheet and looked up to see that Angus had
landed on the ledge. Dagremon was about three fourths of the way there, but she
wouldn’t reach him before they had a chance to parley. What was she up to,
anyway? He knew what Angus was doing—he was desperate to find Embril and The
Tiger’s Eye—but what about Dagremon? She had been enigmatic about it, hadn’t
she? “Our destinies have crossed paths,” she’d said. But what was
her
destiny? Every time he had broached the subject, she had just smiled and didn’t
answer—or gave him another riddle. Now she was following Angus, and that meant
she wanted the same thing Angus did, didn’t it? She was after The Tiger’s Eye,
too! That meant Angus was in danger—and so was the patrol.

He was still trying to figure out what Dagremon was up to
when Master Renard rode up beside him and said, “Something is wrong.”

Hobart looked at the ledge and saw Angus hurl balls of fire
at the mountain above the patrol. He had seen that spell before, at the
construction site where they had asked him if he wanted to join his Banner. It
had set fire to the mountainside and would have done a lot more damage if it
hadn’t been for the quick action of the construction crew. Hobart and his
companions had to run after their horses for hours before they were able to get
all of them back again. But the patrol was still mounted, and they kept their
horses under control. Why had Angus done it? Was something coming out of the
mountain to attack the patrol? He frowned. No. That wasn’t it at all. It had
been a warning, just like when the fishmen got too close to an outpost and the
men sent a catapult full of burning oil flasks at them. But why was Angus
warning the patrol like that?

The Tween Effect. It was the only explanation. Someone had
said something that Angus had taken the wrong way, just like when Giorge had
skittered off into the trees because he thought he saw something when there was
nothing there. Even after Hobart had told him what Angus had done, Giorge
hadn’t been able to control himself. Was that what was happening to Angus? If
it was, the patrol was in trouble, and—

Angus hurled a second spell at the envoy—
and it bounced
off him!

“He has a shield,” Master Renard said with some surprise.
“But it isn’t Darby.”

“I have a shield,” Hobart snapped. “It doesn’t do that.”

Master Renard didn’t bother to turn to him as he said, “It
is a spell that is capable of deflecting flames—magical or otherwise—away from
the one it protects. With it—” he pointed at the plateau without looking at it
“—you could walk unscathed through that conflagration.” He frowned. “I don’t
know him,” he said. “I observed the patrol when they left Hellsbreath, and he
was not with them. Nor was the woman.”

“Woman?” Hobart asked. “You can see them from here?” He
looked at the distant profiles of the horses and riders. They looked almost
like the toy figurines he had played with as a child. He couldn’t even make out
the color of their hair; it was just a dark blob.

“Yes,” he said. “She is small, almost childlike in stature.
Her hair is long and black, and her eyes are older than her size would suggest.
Her skin is dark, like his. I think they are related.”

Small, dark-skinned, black hair…. Hobart frowned and
dismissed the thought before it could fully form. He didn’t need
that
distraction….

Master Renard leaned forward and squinted. “I think he’s
casting another spell,” he said. “I can’t be certain. His movements are quite
subtle. He could just be flexing his fingers in preparation of casting one.” He
sat back and said, “No. It is a spell. I wonder what it will do.”

Hobart stared at the scene, but all he could see for sure
was that the patrol was retreating from Angus. All but the little man who had
parleyed with him. He was standing up in front of Angus, and even from this
distance it was clear he was a head shorter than Angus. Then the ledge beneath
the little man started to glow orange.

“It’s melting!” Master Renard said. “The ledge beneath the
man is melting!”

Dagremon was getting close to them. What was she going to do
when she reached them? Was she going to help Angus? Or was she going to hinder
him? He glared at them, trying to will himself to be there. But he wasn’t
there, was he? It was the worst possible thing for a soldier to experience:
being too far away from a companion to help him in a fight. It wouldn’t be so
bad, but he still didn’t think of Angus as being able to take care of himself.
He knew he should—those spells he was hurling at the man were potent ones—but
if Dagremon turned against him…

He shook his head and stared at Dagremon. Her horse was
flying steadily on, and the staff she carried was glowing like it had when she
had told them that Giorge couldn’t stay at her inn. Only, this time it was even
brighter. He frowned and tried to dismiss the thought again. It was too
impossible to imagine….

Dagremon suddenly lurched sideways out of her saddle as if
something he couldn’t see had reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and jerked.
It had happened so quickly he hadn’t even been able to worry about her falling
before she was dangling from the reins of her horse. Then she started rocking
back and forth until her foot caught in the stirrup and she was able to pull
herself back into the saddle. She turned to the west and looked down at Embril
for a long moment, but kept riding forward, toward Angus. It wouldn’t be long
before she landed—if Embril didn’t stop her.

He frowned. Wasn’t Embril the one who had taken The Tiger’s
Eye? Isn’t that what Angus wanted to get back? That would mean that Dagremon
wasn’t
after Angus
or
The Tiger’s Eye, wouldn’t it? What was she after, then?

They were approaching the tunnel Angus had made with his
wand, and even with the fire burning on the plateau it would soon be too dark
for even Master Renard to see what was happening. They had to rest the horses,
and they wouldn’t be able to go any further than the tunnel until tomorrow. He
wished he could risk traveling at night, but not with the sheets pulled over
their heads and the mushroom smoke breathing down their necks. If only there
was
something
he could do!

Dagremon landed on the ledge about the same time they
reached the tunnel, and Hobart let Ortis lead Leslie into the tunnel while he
stood beside Master Renard with the moist sheet covering his mouth and nose.
“What do you see?” he asked him.

“Very little,” Master Renard said. “The spell has ended.”

Hobart frowned. “All right,” he said, trying to imagine what
was happening on the ledge. “Describe to me what you saw.” He paused and added,
“Tell me about the man Angus parleyed with, first.” He clenched his teeth and
braced himself for what was to come, then listened as intently as he ever had,
only occasionally asking a question to clarify what Master Renard was saying.
All the while, he kept his eyes on the ledge, where a fierce orange stream was
entangled with a bright green one, like two serpents trying to eat each other’s
tails.

What are they doing up there?
he wondered.
And why
isn’t Giorge dead?